


Awake

by dirao



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Facebook: Harmony & Co., Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mild Smut, Oh the Wands They Are A-Changin', Ollivander is a right git, Redeemed Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 88,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirao/pseuds/dirao
Summary: Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing after the Battle of Hogwarts, a year after the battle. It will be up to him and Hermione to figure out where his mind went, what it means, and how it relates to a repentant Draco Malfoy. Shared dreams, teens on the run and dubious wandmaker interference. Post-War, but is war ever really over? (Let's pretend the epilogue never happened, but Draco did toss a wand at Harry during the final battle).All will be revealed, and Harry will often be confused.This story is now COMPLETE
Relationships: Draco Malfoy / Katie Bell, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 179
Kudos: 184





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am destitute. The characters, places and background situations belong to JK Rowling, however much we all may dislike her at the moment. Please do not sue.

It was over. He sat on the ground, on a pile of rubble, surrounded by the dead, the wounded, the living.

For the first time in his life, he was free of the burden of responsibility and heroics.

He gripped his wand, as if his life depended on it.

Hermione and Ron held hands in confidence and he felt that intruding was unnecessary. Ginny was holding Molly, an embrace over the loss of Fred. Ron went to join them. Hermione stayed back and sighed through tears. She looked at Harry, her heart heavy.

"Harry, are you ok?" she asked.

Harry nodded, his eyes closing a bit. "Just tired."

Hermione held her hand out to Harry and he took it. He held it with both his hands and brought it to his heart. Then he kissed it softly.

"Just tired," he repeated, closing his eyes.

And the world went dark.

/ / / / / / / / / /

He woke up with a strong sense of peace. Like waking early on a Sunday, a whole day ahead, a lifetime ahead.

He reached his arm out to find his glasses but they weren't on the bedside table. A strong scent of disinfectant filled the air, and as he raised a hand to his face to rub his eyes, his beard got in the way.

A beard.

His eyes flew open and he tried to sit up, but found he didn't have the strength for it. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out except a dull croak. He looked around and, even though it was blurry, he could make out the surroundings. He was in the Hospital Wing, as he'd been so many times before through the years. Funny, he didn't remember getting hurt but perhaps he had been. He had been tired, he remembered that. He remembered sitting on the ground amidst the chaos, Hermione beside him, Ron and Ginny close by, he had closed his eyes just for a second, to get his bearings, to honor the journey. Maybe he'd… fainted or something.

He reached his arm out again, fumbling to see if his glasses were there. In the distance, he heard the clacking of Madam Pomfrey's shoes, and he looked up to her. She was distracted, carrying a tray of glass beakers and medicine bottles that gleamed, a blur of reflections in Harry's eyes. He attempted something else, opened his mouth and softly mouthed the word 'water', his voice barely a hiss.

Madam Pomfrey dropped everything, the bottles shattering at her feet. She rushed over and touched his forehead, placing her ear closer to his face.

He tried again, shaky and tentative. "Water," he whispered

"By Merlin's beard," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, my dear boy." She reached her wand out and a glass of water materialized in her hand. She brought it close to his lips. "Short sips, now."

He took the first sip and his throat burned, but he swallowed anyway, the effort alone was brutal. He nodded slowly when she offered a bit more, and the second sip was easier than the first. Madam Pomfrey smiled and ran her fingers through the hair that fell across Harry's forehead.

"I have to get McGonagall, Mr. Potter," she said softly. "Please try to stay awake. I'll be right back."

Harry tried to nod but didn't really move his head much.

He didn't dare close his eyes. He wanted desperately to look at himself in a mirror, figure out what had happened. But he couldn't move so he settled for watching the door for Madam Pomfrey to come back.

He heard footsteps first, at full run, and a second later, the door bursting open, and a flurry of curly hair and lanky arms and the strongest hug he had ever received.

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed.

He could feel her tears on his neck and he moved his arms as best he could to hug her back and held her, until he felt her raise her face to look at him. She kissed his forehead. Her long hair was stuck to her face where her tears had fallen, a mess.

"'Mione," he managed, a soft croak of a voice, nothing more.

"I've missed you so much, you idiot," Hermione added, a blurted laugh becoming new tears. "You stupid hero."

Harry was confused. Hermione looked him over. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione ruffled his hair a bit, attempting to coax it back.

He tried to ask something but his voice had stopped working completely. But Hermione could see it in his eyes. He didn't know.

"Harry… you've been… it's been a year," she said, her hands taking one of his. She raised his hand up to her lips and kissed it softly. She remembered how he'd done the same for her, a year prior, and how it had felt like home. "We didn't know if you would ever wake up."

"A year," he mouthed, his mind racing to comprehend.

Hermione nodded. "We won the battle. And then you sat down and you… you stopped breathing and you were gone. And Professor McGonagall and I, we performed some reviving spells and you were back but just… asleep… you've been asleep for a year, sort of."

He felt Hermione squeeze his hand. She looked out towards the window.

"I have to owl Ron and Ginny and then I'll tell you everything, I promise," she said, but Harry had taken a hold of her hand and held on tight. He felt terror coursing through his veins, afraid that she wouldn't return or that he'd fall asleep again and never be able to wake.

She pressed his hand to her heart, and gave him a soft, knowing smile. "Don't be silly, Harry. I'll be back. I always come back." She looked up at the doorway, where Madam Pomfrey appeared followed by Professor McGonagall.

Harry followed her gaze and saw the sparkling eyes of Professor Minerva McGonagall, and as he looked on further back, a milling of students trying to get a glimpse at him. As he tried to raise himself up on his elbows, he saw that the other students began to clap.

Hermione held back tears as she leaned in closer to Harry and whispered, "Welcome back."


	2. Chapter 2

It took a while for Harry to get his bearings and a couple more hours before he could sit up. Madam Pomfrey had surrounded his bed with curtains and had even banned people from coming up the hall towards the hospital wing. She'd finally handed him his pair of glasses which were slightly mangled, almost broken, but at least helped him see.

"Unless you've broken your arm or charmed away your eyes, I don't want you near," her voice boomed down the hall, as she enchanted it to avoid the onlookers. "Of course, I don't mean you, dear," she added towards Hermione, who looked about to protest as she entered.

Madam Pomfrey neared the bed and sat a glass of water next to Harry, and nodded to it. "You should start trying out the whole drinking and eating thing again, and if it goes well I'll start scaling back on the Sustenance Charms," she said, shaking her head. "You're far too thin for your own good."

She sidled up to Hermione and whispered a few things in her ear, but Harry couldn't make out any of it. Hermione smiled at the older woman and squeezed her hand.

"Headmistress McGonagall should be by again before nightfall," Hermione said, taking a seat at the edge of Harry's bed one more time. "She'll want to fill you in on the specifics… And Ron and Ginny owled, they should be here in the morning."

Harry nodded. He clumsily took the glass of water and took a slow sip. His throat aflame, he tried to smile at Hermione but she raised a knowing eyebrow.

"It'll be torture for a few days. Your body has to get used to a lot of things still… Walking alone will be hard, flying is probably out of the question too," she rattled off.

Harry smiled. Pragmatic Hermione, always. He opened his mouth to speak but found again that he couldn't really vocalize. Hermione raised her hand and presented Harry with a quill and parchment from her bag.

He gripped the quill with force but couldn't exactly decide what he wanted to ask. Finally, he slowly wrote out three words: Tell me more.

Hermione sighed. She tied back her hair in a quick bun and looked towards the window, as if trying to find the words on the stained glass.

"So you just… fell ill, I guess. We don't know exactly what happened. The best guess was that it had to do with Voldemort's curse. That it did not kill you but somehow did manage to harm you. We took you to St. Mungo's but they couldn't do anything. Then to the Burrow, for a while. But Molly's had a hard time, with Fred and all..." Hermione waved her hand in a sign of away, as if willing the pain to leave them, then continued. "And I was coming back to school to finish out the term and… well… it just made sense… you weren't going anywhere."

She looked at him, trying to figure out where he needed more information, what was nonsensical for lack of context. "Hogwarts closed for repairs, after the battle. Aside from magic they had to actually work with muggles, you see. So it was restored but there was no graduating class last year. So this year the first years are twice as many, and there's a few of us studying for our NEWTs. Of course we were all invited back. It's Easter break, though, so there aren't that many students around. Neville will be back next week, he said. Ginny went home but she'll come back with Ron. Ron didn't come back to school though… he's working at the shop with George. Didn't want to leave him alone. And since we're of age now, Molly couldn't talk him into it and neither could I. You know how he is."

She took a deep breath. "Is this making any sense?" she asked. "Never had to update a year in the life of everyone we know."

Harry nodded, motioning for her to go on.

She smiled with thin lips, thankful that he couldn't ask much more. "After the Battle, after Voldemort was gone, there were of course celebrations and there were funerals. And it was such a strange time for you not to be around." She glanced back at the window. "And the press had a field day when you wouldn't wake up. You're The Boy Who Sleeps now. Well, I guess now that you're back you'll be The Boy Who Woke."

Harry laughed, but it turned into a cough that seared his throat. Hermione reached over to hand him the glass again, but he waved it away.

Hermione tried once again to decide what path to take with her story. "Your Aunt Petunia and your cousin Dudley visited a couple of times. Very stiff people, but I guess they were shocked when they heard what happened. Your aunt left something of your mother's… for you. I have it up in my room, I can bring it by tomorrow."

"Dean is back and so is Neville. Seamus returned to Ireland to work with his family, he decided not to finish out the year."

There was a bit of silence. "I can tell you more if you want. I'm guessing Ginny and Ron will want to tell you some things for themselves, but… we really didn't know if you'd wake up. So it will all seem as if it happened overnight for you, but it has been a year, I hope you realize that it's been scary and hard."

Harry reached for Hermione's hand. He understood what Hermione was getting at. He whispered, "Ginny?" More than whisper, he formed the word with his mouth, the shape of it, but no sound came out.

"She's dated a bit, won't say who." Hermione looked Harry square in the eye. "She waited, you know. But she's a kid," Hermione said, her voice heavy, as if she wasn't a year older than Ginny but five, ten. As if she was worldly.

Harry grabbed the quill again and scribbled, his handwriting barely legible. "We were all kids," he wrote, a sad smile in his lips. He understood what a year meant, even if he had not seen it go by.

"Ron," Harry croaked, surprised that sound came out.

Hermione gave Harry a sad smile. "He's good… you know Ron. He's taken it upon himself to watch after Teddy while you were out. Teddy's been transfiguring his hair into a nice Weasley red, so he fits right in when he goes to the Burrow to visit. Ron's been talking about moving to the city, closer to the shop. Stays with George sometimes." Harry egged her on with his eyes. "We're not together anymore if that's what you're asking. Distance isn't a thing Ron does well. Neither is writing letters. Or making decisions based on evidence." Hermione waved it all away. "Anyway, he'll tell you all about it in excruciating detail, hopefully not making me sound like a harpy. It is what it is."

Hermione looked him over. "You look tired. Maybe I should go."

Harry shook his head forcefully. "No," he croaked.

Hermione twiddled with the quill. "Alright. You probably have slept enough. Oh, and when Ron comes, laugh at the Boy Who Sleeps joke. He wanted to be the one to tell you when you woke up, and he'll get sore if he knows I beat him to it," Hermione said. "Also, I guess that now that you're here you could… If you wanted, you could take your NEWTs! You won't be too far behind this term, or well, you would be but I could help you catch up. That is, of course, if you're interested. You know Aurors don't need all the coursework, if you passed your OWLs you could still get in, I mean, if you're still interested in that."

Hermione rolled her eyes at herself. "Then again, I really don't know if being out of commission for a year affects one's career ambitions. Maybe you just want a quiet life of Herbology or maybe travel the world."

Harry seemed to consider all this. Mostly he wanted to figure out why he was feeling like he never wanted Hermione to stop talking, ever. It was a new feeling. He remembered when they were kids, sometimes all he and Ron wanted was for Hermione to leave the quiet be. Now he felt at home listening to her talk.

"I've visited you almost every day since you fell ill," she added, as if sensing his curiosity at her stories. "I've come and told you all these things before, more than once. But I guess you couldn't hear me, wherever you were. That's what McGonagall said… that she thought maybe your consciousness was… elsewhere. Whatever that means."

Harry nodded, trying to appear like he understood, but he didn't, not really. Sleeping for a whole year. Or more. Harry grabbed the quill back from Hermione's hand, and scribbled. "A whole year?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "A little less I guess…" she looked up at Harry. "You missed your birthday and Christmas and… well, almost a year, Harry." She reached out to touch his hair again, brushing her fingertips over his scar, and smiled. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but they were interrupted.

"I trust you've got Potter up to speed now, haven't you, Miss Granger," Minerva McGonagall's voice boomed as she entered the hospital wing. Hermione blushed and sat up straight. "You'll have some work to get through, I'm sure."

Hermione nodded and stood to leave. She could see Harry didn't want her to, but she shrugged and nodded towards the door. "I'll come by tonight," she mouthed, out of McGonagall's earshot, or so she thought.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you do always come by at night, it's not a secret," the Headmistress added with pursed lips. Hermione blushed even more profusely and waved slightly as she backed out into the hall.

Professor – now Headmistress McGonagall – dragged a chair close to Harry's bed and took a seat.

"You gave us quite a scare, Potter," she finally said, patting his hand which rested on his chest. "Quite."

Harry sat up a little higher, feeling like he needed to show some respect. He wanted to say something but he couldn't. He pointed to his throat and shrugged a bit, sheepish.

Professor McGonagall looked around to see if Madam Pomfrey wasn't around and gave Harry a mischievous wink. She took out her wand and tapped Harry's neck twice. Nothing more.

Harry cleared his throat and felt as if a cooling breeze had gone through it.

"Now don't tell Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall intimated. "She thinks it best for some things to heal naturally… but we only have so much time before Miss Granger returns and I presume you have questions for me that you'd rather she didn't hear."

Harry nodded, his mouth open in surprise. How did she know?

"Maybe it's this place, Potter. But once you become a Headmaster, or Headmistress in my case, the school does tend to tell you things. Help will always be given at Hogwarts…"

"To those who ask for it," Harry finished, surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Hermione told me I died again…"

McGonagall set her wand on the bedside table and pushed her glasses up her nose a bit. She nodded, smiling. "Well, yes, in a manner of speaking," she answered. "You see, what we have been able to surmise is that once the battle was over, the side effects of the curses Voldemort hurled at you, well… they seem to have taken a toll on your body. So you slipped off the world, in a sense. We brought you back, or your body at least. The rest of it… well… you have been lucky, my dear boy. The only reason you are here may be luck. Or that it was not your time, if there is such a thing as someone's time to leave."

Harry nodded slowly.

"But that, I believe, Miss Granger must have told you. So come on, Mr. Potter… Ask me what it is that you really want to know."

Harry swallowed hard, peering over the figure of his teacher towards the door. No one was there.

"Professor McGonagall… Is there any way that what happened to me could mean that… that Voldemort isn't dead?"

McGonagall seemed to consider this for a minute, looking out the window, towards the forbidden forest. The sun was setting fast and she looked over the trees as if searching for the right answer.

"At times like this I wonder what Albus would have answered. Probably something profound, followed by a string of words that did not make much sense," she said. She smiled down at Harry. "It has been almost a year and not a whisper of new darkness or old. But Voldemort was not the only creature in search for power. If he is gone, there will be others. I do not know if they will seek you out." She sighed. "Having defeated a powerful being once, some may be tempted to test their own power against you."

She paused and collected her thoughts for a stretch of silence. "I can't say that Voldemort is completely gone. His body is dead and burned, the ashes buried as they should be, somewhere everyone knows, not hidden. But he had no body once and came back. I believe he is gone for good, but would be foolish to swear it."

She looked at Harry's forehead, then down at her hands. "Do you remember anything from this year? Dreams or voices? Do you remember what happened before you… fell asleep?"

"Peace," Harry answered. "I felt at peace for a bit, even though everything around me was destroyed."

"And then?"

"Nothing," he said, reaching up his hand to his scar, as if by instinct. "Then I woke this morning."

"Ah, a mystery then," she replied, folding her hands on her lap. "We all know how those always tend to find you."

McGonagall peered at him over her glasses. "The Department of Mysteries has for years tried to understand the veil that divides life from death. Some Unspeakables believe that the veil is not so thin, but is - perhaps - a maze. If this were the case, then you may have just spent a year solving the maze, searching for a way home."

Harry appeared confused, but knew it was best not to answer.

"But I'm just an old woman, and I know not what lies between the world of the dead and the living, except the love that we have once shared."

She turned to look around, to make sure that no one was listening, before turning to Harry again.

"It would appear to me that we must always remain vigilant of evil, wherever it may come from. And that we must also live as if it is not imminent, so we may live truthfully as well," she whispered. "Those contradictions were what Dumbledore was best at, but now he is gone and I'll have to do." She grabbed her wand and stood, glancing sideways at the door before resuming. "Me, I'm more pragmatic. I say: kiss the girl, seize that day! But keep your wand at the ready. At some point, Potter, your life - the one you earned in battle - has to start proper. You must stop living with the shadow of death over your head. Only then will Voldemort be truly gone."

Harry gave her a slight smile at her advice. It was true that McGonagall was more practical that Dumbledore. When Harry looked back, he appreciated the balance of having known them both. "Dumbledore used to call me Harry. I would hope you would, too, Professor."

"I will try." She started to take her leave, and Harry could see that her walk was more deliberate than it had been before. "Madam Pomfrey assures me that you are out of the woods, so to speak. You can try to sleep, Harry. You will wake."

And with that, a Tabby cat took her leave, padding through the corridor.

Harry leaned back and closed his eyes. He fell fast asleep.

/ / / / / / /

Hermione walked into the hospital wing and her first instinct was to scream when she saw Harry asleep. Was he… did he slip back…

She tiptoed toward the bed and leaned in, close to his face, just to make sure he was breathing. She couldn't tell right away, so she leaned in closer… closer…

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry asked.

Hermione backed up and almost keeled over. "Your breath," she replied, thinking quickly. "It smells."

"If you get that close, anything smells," he countered, confused. He placed his palm near his mouth and exhaled. "I brushed my teeth before, Madam Pomfrey brought a basin. I don't smell."

"You're talking again," Hermione noted, quickly changing the subject. "McGonagall."

"Don't tell Madam Pomfrey," Harry said, holding a finger up to his mouth and making a shushing sign.

Hermione smiled back. "Cross my heart."

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry didn't quite know what else to say or ask. When you see someone day in and day out, he thought, conversation flows. But he hadn't seen her in a year and also, effectively in his mind, he'd seen her yesterday. And so it was awkward.

"Do you think it looks weird?"

"Do you think I look different?"

They spoke at the same time and laughed, confused. Hermione motioned for him to go ahead. He hadn't spoken in so long, she just wanted to hear his voice. She felt an immense relief at seeing him again, the real Harry and not just an inert body.

"I meant to ask if you think the beard looks weird," Harry said. "I haven't seen it yet… can't picture it."

Hermione motioned for Harry to scoot over and kicked off her shoes. She climbed into bed next to him, her face towards the ceiling. "It looks good… We tried to keep it neat with Madam Pomfrey, but didn't want to shave it off completely, not knowing what you'd like."

Harry nodded. "I'll take your word for it."

Hermione took something from her pocket and handed it to him. A small makeup compact. "You don't have to… look."

Harry opened the mirror. It was a compact with two small mirrors facing one another. He looked at his face, thin, his nose like a hook, his beard, sparse but well kept. His scar still there. His hair shaggy. He turned the mirror slightly and caught Hermione looking back at him. He saw her eyes, her lips, her face. She looked older and a bit weary, but still the same Hermione.

"You look good," he answered her question from before. "A bit older," he joked, handing the mirror back to her.

"You look ancient," she replied, sliding down on the bed a bit more, so her head rested next to Harry's on the pillow.

Harry didn't want to turn and look her in the eyes, didn't know how to be this close to her. He stared at the ceiling, like she did. "You've been keeping me company all this time," he whispered.

"I didn't know what else to do," she answered. She could feel the tears stinging her eyes, and she tried to hold them back. "I couldn't fix you, I couldn't save you. So I came here and told you stories and gave you haircuts and I helped take care of you." She sniffled. "You self-sacrificing idiot."

He started to laugh. He couldn't help it. "Well, I was trying to save the world as we know it, you know."

"I hated you so much when you died on me," she said, laughing too. "Promise me you won't do that again."

"I'll definitely try," he said, his voice softer. "I don't care much for dying."

"But you want to be an Auror, so you're not completely opposed to the idea either." She sounded worried, but was trying to hide it.

He tried to shrug, but it didn't quite work laying down. "Maybe I should consider a quiet life of herbology."

Hermione shook her head. "If you want me not to worry, you'd have to give up magic completely. Herbology has killer mandrakes, Care of Magical Creatures has temperamental dragons, you'd blow yourself up with potions… Maybe it's best if you do work in something dangerous, that way I know to always be alert and worry all the time."

Harry watched her reasoning and it felt like the very first time. Like he was seeing her anew, but also knew her better than anyone else. He thought back to what McGonagall had said, and how she'd raised an eyebrow at him while saying it. "Kiss the girl, seize the day, keep your wand at the ready," he muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. She turned on her side to face him, and he turned to face her.

"Some really, really good advice," he said. And then he kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione's fight or flight dial had always been turned all the way over to flight. Run, run fast… that was her instinct. It was Harry who had taught her to fight her instinct and stay her ground, fight for what she believed in, be brave, braver than was smart. And she had learned.

But now here was Harry. Harry, who right now had his lips on hers. Harry, whose tongue touched hers. Harry, who had his hands at the hem of her shirt and was tugging softly at it. Her breath rushed out of her and she took a beat before kissing him back. It was soft and perfect and exactly what she'd wished it would be, kissing him.

He opened his eyes slightly, willing himself to believe in what was happening, taking in her dark curls, the feeling of her lips against his. He brushed his thumb against the golden-brown skin of her cheek, and she sighed into a new kiss. His eyes closed again.

She felt her stomach bottom out as his fingers tangled in her messy hair. And then she was overthinking everything all over again and she stopped. So he stopped.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his heart sinking. What had he been thinking? Taking dating advice from the headmaster was lunacy.

"No, don't be, I…" Hermione raised her hand to stop whatever he was thinking. She didn't know exactly how to organize her thoughts to explain. "It was perfect, you are… perfect. This was perfect. But I have to go now."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "O…K? I guess."

"You understand," Hermione said. "You know me. I think, it's what I do, I need to think and I can't do it with you kissing me. Yesterday I thought that maybe you'd never wake up and this would never happen and now it happened and I need to think." She started to sit up and so Harry did as well. "You should sleep."

"Everyone keeps telling me that, like I haven't spent a year horizontal," he complained. "Are you sure you're not angry?"

"Angry, no. Insane, maybe," Hermione replied. She started to walk towards the door, but turned back and bent down to kiss him. With utter confusion but healthy instinct, he deepened the kiss pulling her closer, his hand on the back of her neck, his other hand on her hip, pressing urgently. She broke it off as suddenly as she'd started it, almost disappointed. "Yes. Perfect. Dammit." She took a shaky breath and cursed under her breath.

And with that she walked away as fast as she could, not daring to look back at Harry. Harry touched his lips and smiled, trying to savor the moment, and watched her disappear, a mass of hair and nerves running away.

/ / / / / / /

Harry dreamed.

Walking through a portal, his hands fisted, half-moon circles of his fingernails dug into his palms.

On the other side, a giant snake coiled around a pedestal. Atop the pedestal a glass case with a beating heart inside it. The walls that surrounded him were black, tinged in blood.

Somehow Harry knew it was his own heart. The snake looked him straight in the eyes and whispered, "You should be dead."

Harry nodded. "So should you."

"I'll never die," the snake hissed. "There are those who still remember me. I live on. I'll live forever."

"I'll forget you," Harry warned.

The snake slid closer. "If you are here, you have not forgotten." Then it coiled up and broke the glass encasing with its fangs.

In one fell swoop it swallowed his heart.

Harry began to scream, a hole in his chest went through and through, and the cold took over his body.

And then blinding light invaded the dark room.

A silvery and translucent dragon, with a slight green tinge, flying through the room towards the hissing snake.

/ / / / / / /

"Harry!" Ginny yelled from the doorway, rushing in. Ron followed close behind.

He startled awake and grinned. He was happy to see the smiles. Ginny gave him a big hug, then blushed and walked away. He smiled at her and gave her a knowing look. She shrugged. And that was it. Smoothest breakup in the history of wizardry. Almost made him forget his dream.

"You cut your hair," he said, admiring the red bob she now sported. And then, to Ron. "You should cut your hair."

Ron walked up to him and stretched out a hand. "Harry, you big idiot," he started.

"So, you missed me," Harry said, sitting up. He pulled Ron into a hug and Ron caved.

"You scared us half to death," Ron whispered.

Harry was smiling so hard it almost hurt. "You're just in time, too. I really need to pee."

"I didn't miss you that much," Ron quipped.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Help me up before Madam Pomfrey comes over with a bedpan."

Ron helped Harry up to his feet. Harry felt weird, pinpricks running down his legs, but was able to steady himself and walk very slowly.

"Your leg muscles must be weak," Ron said. "Alas, the Boy Who Sleeps has risen."

Harry groaned. "Is that what they're calling me?" he pretended he hadn't heard it before.

"Oy, that's not all they've said. But that was the best one." Ron got him all the way to the toilet and asked, "You don't need any extra help, do you?"

"Good grief, I hope not," Harry answered.

Ron stayed close to the stall door and waited until he was done, ever vigilant. "So you know about Ginny? And about Hermione and I?"

Uncomfortable, Harry answered, "Heard a bit about it."

"I'll have to give you the full story over Firewhiskey once you're up to it." Ron listened intently. "You all right in there?"

"All good," Harry said. He walked out of the bathroom slowly and headed over to the sink. He noticed the mirror and looked at himself, with a bit of distrust. "I look like Sirius right after he came out of Azkaban."

"Don't flatter yourself," Ginny called from outside the bathroom. "It's just a bit of beard."

"Thanks for that," Harry called back. He heard Ginny laugh and another merry laughter beside it. Hermione. Harry groaned, remembering the kiss, the sleepless night, the nightmares. He splashed water on his face and looked at Ron through the mirror. "Hermione says you didn't come back to school."

Ron shrugged. "I did what had to be done." In silence, he looked away from Harry, to the door. "You taught me that."

"But, are you happy, mate?" Harry asked.

Ron smiled to himself. "George called me Fred the other day, and it didn't feel like needles in my eyes, so I guess I'm getting there." He looked back at Harry. "The shop's doing really well and I'm doing well there, and this… here… it doesn't feel like home anymore. Not to me, anyway."

Harry nodded. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet."

"You don't have to, you know," Ron offered. "You can take a holiday. Travel a bit. See that world that you saved for us. Or just go to… what do you call those… a movie. Or watch that thing you showed me, the telly."

Harry laughed.

Ron continued. "Just be normal, for once." He patted Harry on the back. "Come on, if we stay here any longer they'll think you died again."

/ / / / / / / /

Sensing the Great Hall would be full of onlookers, the four walked down to the kitchens, keeping a slow pace for Harry's favor. Every once in a while, Harry would hold on to Ron's arm or shoulder for support. He hated feeling weak, but being able to walk and move around and even just speak felt like such a gift. They made their way into the kitchens and Hermione conjured up a small feast out of the ingredients they found. Harry tried a bit of everything, feeling like his body was waking up finally. Sandwiches, pies and pudding. Sausages and chips. Hermione raised an eyebrow, as if indicating he should pace himself. He nodded, glancing sideways at Ron and Ginny, who didn't seem to have seen anything.

"So I've been the seeker this year," Ginny said, carrying the conversation over to pleasant topics. "We've been doing really well. We might win the House Cup yet."

"It's easier now that half the Slytherin's are gone," Ron commented. Ginny rolled her eyes and pushed him with her shoulder.

"Is it? Or was our old Gryffindor Team cursed?" Ginny teased. "I'm betting on option B there."

Harry though of something and it almost made him spit his tea out. "Malfoy."

Everyone just… froze. "Come again?" Ron asked.

"It just popped into my head. What happened to Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Lucius is in Azkaban. Narcissa is fine, I guess, up in the Mansion, doing her thing…" Ginny rattled off, looking away.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You do know I'm asking about Draco Malfoy? Remember him? About yay high, very blond, very pale, very annoying, kind of helpful there at the end, what with tossing me a wand before the showdown."

"Well, you didn't really need Narcissa's wand," Ginny mused. "You already had the others."

Hermione groaned, hoping not to enter the same conversation again. "Not musical-wands again. Who cares what wand did it? He's gone. It doesn't matter if it was unicorn hair or phoenix tail."

Ron held up his hand bidding her to pause. "Everyone's got an opinion on this. It's important. You know it'll be a new chapter in Hogwarts: A History." He turned to Harry then and emptied his pockets of small candy wands and started to arrange them on the table. "Ok, so you had Malfoy's wands and you had your wand. But…"

Harry lifted a couple of the candy wands and handed one each to Hermione, Ginny and Ron. Ginny started to eat hers, under Hermione's annoyed stare. "But they took the Elder Wand when Voldemort thought he'd killed me. They took them all except Malfoy's wand and mine, and I couldn't use that one," Harry said. "So I had two wands on me. But when I fell from Hagrid's arms…"

"Right, so you dropped a wand and only Malfoy saw it? I thought he'd tossed you Narcissa's wand," Ron said. He'd lost track of the candy wands and pointed to the one that Ginny was calmly chewing as if it was evidence of foul play.

"It's all very confusing," Hermione replied. "In any case, at the end you used the wand that Malfoy tossed at you."

"Yes, exactly. Which I think was Malfoy's wand which had fallen and he saw it fall," Harry explained. "I think. It really was kind of a blur."

Hermione, Ginny and Ron nodded slowly. They chewed on their candy wands, avoiding Harry's eyes.

"That detour was nice and all but it doesn't answer my question," Harry added. "Where's Malfoy? Is he in school? Did he inherit some bureaucratic post in Transylvania?"

Hermione looked at Ginny, then Ron, and they both looked away quickly. She sighed, playing with the rim of her cup. "Here's the thing," she started, nervously. "When you blacked out after the battle… you weren't the only one."

"You mean…" Harry started.

Hermione gave him a quick, clipped nod, and took a big gulp of juice, steadying herself. "Draco's heart stopped. And Madam Pomfrey was able to revive him as well, and he entered into deep sleep, as you did. They called it a magical coma. When you woke, that was one of the reasons I rushed to the owlery. To see if Malfoy had woken up as well, to see if there was news. But he's… well, he's still sleeping."

"Where is he? Is he at the… Manor?" Harry asked. He shuddered to think that someone would sleep a year at the cold and drafty stone castle that smelled like dementors.

Hermione shook her head. "St. Mungo's. Narcissa didn't want to deal with it but she made… provisions. He's well taken care of by… hospital house elves."

"We thought maybe it was the wand… some enchantment he put on it before tossing it. But McGonagall said it was fine," Ron said. "Nothing funny, no tampering."

Harry felt his hands go numb at this information. "I should go see him."

"It's Malfoy," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I know you worry and feel responsible for everyone. But come on… It's Malfoy. He's the same prick as before, just horizontal now."

His scar was stinging, but Harry didn't want to tell them just yet. "It's just… a gut feeling."

"Maybe you're still hungry," Ron said, pushing a plate toward him. "Have a scone. It'll pass."

Harry scowled, and Ron looked away, taking a bite from a scone for himself.

Hermione approached the whole thing from a more logical standpoint. "It's St. Mungo's. They barely let family in. We'd have to… do something illegal and stupid."

Harry considered this, then said, "It won't be the first time we have to find our way into some place that doesn't want us in it."

"We sounds like quite a lot of people, and 'we'," Ron pointed at himself an Ginny, "We have to work tomorrow."

Ginny concurred. "Oh, yes, Saturday is our busiest day at the shop. Loads of sugar plus crying children who can't yet control their magic plus overworked parents, it's delightful." She pointed her scone at Hermione. "I can't wait to be back in school."

Harry glanced over at Hermione who was looking down at her plate as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He realized they were trying to discourage him, so he let it go.

He took a scone, but before taking a bite, he did have one last question. "Do any of you have my wand?"


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione and Harry saw Ginny and Ron off. They apparated from the courtyard after long hugs and promises to see one another again soon. Alone, Harry followed Hermione into the castle.

Harry walked by her side, taking the shortcuts she took. "So, about my wand…" he prodded.

"It's in my room," she replied. "Do you need it now?"

Harry shrugged. "I do feel kind of… naked without it."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," she replied. She led him slowly to the Gryffindor dormitories. Once there, in front of the portrait, the painted lady gave a shriek at seeing Harry and welcomed them in without asking for the password.

Harry followed Hermione closely, nervous to meet up with anyone. "There's hardly anyone in," she said.

"Stop reading my mind," Harry warned.

"I'm really not. You're just that easy."

Hermione led him up the steps to the dormitories. There was only one other bed in the room. "Parvati's," she nodded. "But she went home."

Harry nodded.

"Your stuff is here, somewhere," Hermione added, pretending to not know exactly where everything was.

Harry sat on the edge of her bed, fidgeting. "I don't think I've been up here before."

"You haven't," Hermione confirmed. "I deactivated the alarms before you came in." She kneeled beside the bed and pulled out a suitcase. She hauled it up on the bed and opened it. "Here it is. Well, here they are."

She handed Harry two wands. One was his old wand, repaired with a bit of tape. The other was Draco Malfoy's.

"The Elder Wand we buried. Narcissa's wand was found in the courtyard and was sent to her. Voldemort's old wand was cremated with him. And these two remained," Hermione explained.

"Musical wands," Harry mused, and Hermione raised her eyebrow at him, amused.

"I couldn't give it back to him, you see," Hermione explained. "Only you can do that. And neither were you in a condition to give it nor was Malfoy able to receive it, so I just… kept them."

"What else is in there?" Harry asked, sitting closer to the suitcase. Hermione sat opposite him, the suitcase between them. He thought he'd imagined her trying to keep a distance between them, but now he saw it was true.

"Your clothes. The invisibilty cloak. Oh, and some of your birthday presents. We kept them for you." She pointed to a small parcel in muggle wrapping paper. "That's what you aunt sent." She pointed at the others, almost absently. "Molly sent that one, and that one's from Ron, and that's mine and that's Ginny's."

Harry wasn't paying attention. He was weighing both wands in his hands, feeling them out. "They are both mine, but they're not. It's odd."

"The wand chooses the wizard. You'll know which one is meant for you to keep," Hermione said, closing the suitcase back up.

Harry closed his eyes and let the wand choose him, feeling the texture of each in his hands. The instinct as to which wand was choosing him was... cloudy. He decided he'd keep his own wand, it seemed only right. "I have to give Malfoy his wand back."

Hermione pushed the suitcase back under the bed and sat next to Harry. "I thought you'd say that," she sighed. She took Draco's wand in her hand and held it for a second. "You do realize that far better wizards and witches have stood at Malfoy's bedside and nothing has happened. Like, expert healers."

"I know," Harry answered. "But it's odd. This connects me to him," he said, pointing at the wand in Hermione's hand. "It must mean something."

"Not everything means something, Harry," she replied, her eyes on his. She felt the closeness becoming problematic, and stood stiffly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, alright, so everything around you does end up meaning something," Hermione admitted. "I'll see what I can do." 

"You're brilliant, Hermione," Harry complimented her, but she just rolled her eyes.

"Let's get you back before we fall out of Madam Pomfrey's good graces."

/ / / / / / /

Hermione had dropped him off at the Hospital Wing and quickly receded to avoid Madam Pomfrey's angry tirade. "A feast, a walk, travel plans, like you didn't just narrowly escape death!" she chided him.

"To be precise, I narrowly escaped death a year ago, then took a really long nap," he attempted, but that got him a harrumph and a very nasty vitamin syrup. "I feel fine, Madam Pomfrey, I swear."

She ordered him to bed and didn't say much more, except that he needed to rest and that he was not to leave the hospital wing without informing her again. But he felt antsy, full of energy.

"Hermione told me you saved Malfoy," he told her, but she avoided his eyes.

"She told you, did she?" she asked, almost to herself. "That poor boy, manipulated from the start, all those years… To think how it must have been to grow up with that man as a father," she said softly, her voice clipped. "At least he redeemed himself at the end."

"You talk about him as if he were…" Harry asked, as Madam Pomfrey pushed his head back on the pillow.

The older woman smiled at him and brushed his hair back. In the past he would have resented being treated as a child, but now saw it for what it was: care and comfort. "Up until yesterday, we thought you'd never wake. And when you did, we rejoiced and wished it would happen with him as well. But there's been no change. Maybe you were stronger, maybe he sunk deeper into wherever you were. In any case, there's barely reason to hope. But we do hope… we just do not expect anything." She sighed, knowing. "A long life teaches you that, dear boy."

/ / / / / / / / /

It was dark out by the time Hermione came back, sliding into the room unnoticed. She carried a small suitcase which floated itself towards the foot of the bed and settled silently. Harry had been attempting to read a bit, but couldn't concentrate, not even on the Witch Weekly issue on the nightstand. Hermione was, as always, a welcome sight.

"She went to bed already," Harry said, glancing in the direction of Madam Pomfrey's room. "That my stuff?"

Hermione nodded. She opened the suitcase and tossed the invisibility cloak at him. "Thought it would come in handy, for your adventures."

Hermione motioned for him to scoot over.

"All your gifts are there as well," she added.

Harry moved over, making room for her in the bed. "I could get a chair," he offered, trying to be chivalrous but coming off as terrified.

"I won't bite," Hermione countered, more serious than she intended it to be.

"Me neither," Harry answered quickly. Hermione lay back beside him, their heads touching on the pillow.

Hermione took out her wand and pointed at the ceiling. "Revelio Cielum," she whispered. The ceiling seemed to disappear, but it had really just become transparent, revealing the night sky above them.

She turned her head to look at Harry. "I'll go with you to St. Mungo's. I asked Professor McGonagall if it would be alright if we visited… The Burrow."

"You lied?" Harry asked, a bit taken aback.

"I embellished," Hermione said. "We could go to The Burrow after and then it wouldn't be a lie."

Harry nodded.

"Have you done any magic?" Hermione asked. "Since you woke."

Harry shook his head. "Haven't needed to. Didn't want to." He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking. "The last spell I cast… what if that is my greatest achievement? What if all I ever am is… The Boy Who Killed That Monster?"

"What if you peaked at seventeen, you mean?" Hermione said, a laugh caught in her lips.

"Don't laugh," he whispered back. "I am worried."

"It probably will sound odd coming from me, but you worry too much." She waved her wand at the ceiling and turned it solid again. "Go ahead."

Harry held up his wand and repeated Hermione's incantation. The ceiling, translucid, gave way to stars and constellations. The wand felt foreign, heavier than he remembered. He pointed his wand at the lights in the room and whispered, "Nox."

The room went pitch black, and all that remained visible were the stars in the sky. Well, it did work.

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, neither sure of what to say or do. In the darkness, Hermione's hand found Harry's. Their fingers intertwined. Harry looked at their hands, the way their skin contrasted in the moonlight, the way they fit together. It felt like home.

She cuddled up to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Do you want to know what it was like, when you were gone?" she asked.

Harry nodded softly.

"Everyone celebrated the end of the war and everyone mourned the dead and it was as if you'd died, too. There were parades and Ministry funerals. Fred would've hated his," Hermione paused, her smile wavering. Fred was a difficult topic. "There's even a statue of you, somewhere in Diagon Alley, I didn't go to the unveiling, it seemed obscene. Because you weren't dead. But you weren't here either. And everyone needed to move on. People needed to be arrested, and Hogwarts needed to be rebuilt and…" Hermione struggled to find a way to explain a world without Harry but it was a painful exercise. "And everyone carried on. But you stayed the same, so I stayed the same."

Harry squeezed her hand tighter.

She smiled up at him. In the darkness her eyes were quivering pools of starlight. "Ron lost patience with me. He said it was like I was asleep, too." She looked down at their entwined hands. "No one asked me to take care of you. I wanted to. But everyone made me feel like I was insane. And I might as well have been, I talked to you while you slept. Told you about my plans for the future and about my classes. I told you about the new ice cream flavors at Florean Fortescue's."

"They've got new flavors?" Harry asked, a stupid attempt to lighten the mood.

Hermione sat up and punched his arm, but her other hand kept holding his own. "You're an idiot. And yes, and they're ghastly."

Harry took a deep breath. "I want to kiss you again," Harry said, with a confidence that felt foreign.

Hermione eyed him with mistrust. "You don't have to. You don't owe me anything, I did those things because you are my friend and I wanted to."

"Ok." Harry said. "I know that, but…"

"I'd like to kiss you too, I guess that much is obvious, but maybe you feel like this because you're grateful and don't know how to express it. Or maybe you think I'm crazy obsessed with you because of the last year and you want to let me down gently and don't know how to say it, and I just think you should do what you want, what you really want, and not take this into consideration." Hermione hardly breathed between words.

"Oh," Harry replied, confused.

"So that's what I've been thinking. That I should ask you what you want. Because nobody ever asks you what you want to do," Hermione finished. She kept looking down at their hands, as if expecting Harry to back away and run.

"What I want to do," Harry repeated.

Hermione nodded.

Harry had lived with the Dursley's for ten years and they had never asked him what he'd wanted. Back then, he'd wanted a home, a family, to feel special. Then he'd gone to Hogwarts and he'd found all that, and feeling special was as overwhelming as a brick house falling on his chest. He'd learned about his past and his family and then he had wanted other things: vengeance and justice and victory. But those were needs and instinct weaving themselves into purpose. It wasn't desire.

Now he wanted to live, really live. He wanted to understand his new place in the world that he'd contributed to saving. He wanted to be a man who would have made his parents proud. He wanted to be loved for who he was, not what he represented. He wanted a place to call his own, where he could make himself a cup of tea once in a while. Maybe a dog.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow and he realized he'd been very quiet for an inordinate amount of time, and that the silence had become very awkward.

He also realized exactly what he wanted at that very second.

"I want to kiss you again," he repeated, completely sure this time, though for such a bold statement, his voice sounded a bit more strangled than he liked.

Hermione pressed her lips against his, their noses bumping in the process. She didn't seem to mind the crack in his voice or the weird beard or the fact that he felt utterly incompetent at all things kissing. She let go of his hand and instead placed both her hands on his face, as if she was holding him so that he wouldn't escape. It was a completely amateurish kiss, far from the perfection Hermione had claimed about their first kiss. Their teeth knocked and, at some point, he kind of bit her lip and she whispered out an ouch. Hermione laughed through the kisses and he could see her skin flush red when he backed away.

"So that's what you want," Hermione said, bumping his shoulder with hers.

"That and finding gainful employment, but I really could only accomplish one at the moment," he joked, attempting to sound much more worldly than he was and failing miserably. But she laughed, so he chalked it up as a win.

"I should go," she said, making no attempt to actually leave, leaning in for a deeper kiss and dragging her teeth on his lower lip just so. She shook her head a bit. "Yes. Go. Now."

"Should I take this as a sign?" he asked. "This worrysome Snog-and-Run tendency of yours."

Hermione shrugged, leaning in to kiss his cheek, a quick grasshopper of a kiss. He closed his eyes, feeling the closeness of her breath. She whispered in his ear, "Isn't it more fun this way?"

And then she ran towards the door, calling out, "6am, the courtyard. Don't be late."

Harry watched her run, curls bouncing madly.

He lay back and stared up at the sky through the ceiling, settling in for another night of trying to get his thoughts about Hermione out of the way so he could sleep.

/ / / / / / / / /

He met her in the courtyard at the appointed time, the sun just peeking out over the trees. Harry wore a Weasley jumper and jeans. Hermione had had the same idea and wore Muggle clothes as well. She carried a sort of crossbody purse, which Harry presumed was ever-expanding. He carried a backpack that was a few days away from tattered. He'd fixed a hole in it before leaving, his third spell in a year. There was no more hole, but it wasn't pretty.

She smiled at the sight of the jumper; an H knit across the front. It was almost too small, and his pale wrists showed, three inches under the too-short sleeves.

"You got around to your presents, I see," Hermione smirked.

Harry pulled at the hem of his jumper, and self-consciously pushed his glasses up his nose. "Just the one," he said. He hadn't had the presence of mind to open everything else, but he'd placed them in his backpack. "Brought the rest in case we get bored."

"Little chance of that," Hermione pointed out. "Ready?" she asked, taking out a small black object from her purse.

Harry looked puzzled. "Is that a mobile?"

"And an unregulated Portkey," Hermione added. "Ron's dad has started doing some experiments on modern Muggle artifacts and magic. The bewitched laptop did not work out too well, but the mobile portkey is brilliant. Only we can't tell anyone we've used it."

"Do we just go straight to St. Mungo's?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be daft. We can't just appear in there - well, I can but you can't. You're still famous, sleeping beauty."

"What then?" Harry asked.

"Have I ever led you astray?" Hermione countered. She held out the mobile phone and before Harry could say "never", she pressed the phone into his hand and soon they were zooming out of Hogwarts and dropping onto… the middle of the road.

Harry looked both ways just to make sure he wasn't going to get run over. Hermione straightened out her jacket and walked to the side of the road to a tangle of brush and branches and, without any further explanation, started to move the branches.

"A little help here," she said.

Harry rushed over and replicated what she was doing, until he finally understood. Under the brushwood there was a small car. Hermione wiped her hands on her jeans and gave a triumphant "Ta-da!", her hands extending in show-and-tell fashion.

"It's electric," she said, most cheerful.

"You have a car," Harry stated, confused.

"My parents gave it to me for my seventeenth," she said, wistfully. "Well, before. Had to take it, they would've been weirded out if they'd seen it parked there. It was not their style of car."

Harry wanted to say something, but decided against it. He understood that grief was oftentimes very personal, and if she wanted to talk about it, she would - at some point.

"It's tiny," he offered.

"It's… ecological," Hermione counter.

"So's a broomstick."

Hermione ushered him into the passenger's side. "We can't be using magic all over the city. If people get wind that you're back we'll be swarmed." She opened the visor and grabbed the keys that dropped from it, sticking a key in the ignition and placing the car into drive. "I have half a mind to Polyjuice you into someone else."

"Please, don't," he replied. He watched her as she drove, slowly but with confidence. "I didn't know you could drive."

She shook her head, taking the highway on her left. "The things you don't know about me would fit into an ever-expanding handbag, Harry Potter," she said, giving him a sideways glance. She smiled, pointing at the radio. "Come on, choose some music. Oh, and put this cap on. Don't want anyone seeing your scar."

She handed him a Tottenham football cap, complete with a small rooster logo. Harry glared at her.

"What? My dad liked them," she said.

Harry covered his hair and scar with the cap and fiddled with the radio as they sped towards London.

/ / / / / / / /

Hermione found parking right outside Purge and Dowse's Ltd, and Harry would've bet good money she used magic to find it. He'd always heard his uncle Vernon say that parking in downtown London was impossible. Hermione could magically make impossible things into slightly less improbable things.

They got out of the car and onto the sidewalk when Harry felt a strange chill run down his spine. He ignored it. Windy day.

Hermione pursed her lips, considering their options as she walked. "Let's go in. Faster we're in, the faster we'll leave."

He followed her in, through the condemned building, down the corridor. Hermione headed straight for the mannequin on the Ladies' Formalwear display and swung her wand. The bustling reception of the hospital appeared before them, but Hermione seemed to know where to go, so she didn't ask.

"Just keep walking, keep your head down," she whispered to Harry. "Best to look like we belong," she added, heading straight for the elevator. Harry felt grateful for his beard and shaggy hair, being unrecognizable was an advantage.

Hermione pressed the fourth-floor button and then quickly waved her wand at the doors, willing them to shut faster. "He's in the Janus Thickey Ward for Permanent Magical Damage," she explained.

The doors opened onto a place Harry had been before. They both had. "This is where Neville's parents are."

Hermione nodded. She led Harry down a flurry of corridors and rooms, until they were faced by a solid, concrete wall. Hermione tapped it with her wand and whispered, "Revelio".

The wall became a door to another hallway, with a small reception desk. A tiny house elf in a nurse's uniform greeted them from behind the desk, looking up at both of them with a quizzical smile. "Yes?" she said.

"Here to see Draco Malfoy. We have a permit from the Ministry of Magic," Hermione said, her voice deepening. She rummaged through her bag and handed the elf a small green slip of paper. Harry didn't want to ask how she'd gotten it, and she didn't offer to explain either. This was Hermione engaging in forgery and he had to admit he liked it.

The elf examined it, then looked both of them over, then looked back at the paper.

"All seems in order. Second door to your left. Fifteen-minute visit," she said, pointing to the door.

/ / / / / / /

Harry opened the door slowly, his eyes fixed on the bed as it came into focus. On it, lying perfectly still, rested Draco Malfoy. He looked a bit worse than he did, Harry had to admit. He was sallow and even more pale than his usual translucent skin. He was clean shaven but there were tiny cuts papered over, he imagined a nurse had done the job poorly. His hands, which rested above the sheets facing the ceiling, were bony and dry.

Finally Harry could pin down what was so different about Malfoy. In all the years he'd know him, he would never had described him as weak. But here he was... he looked frail, brittle almost, as if a strong wind could lift him up off the bed and carry him out the window.

Hermione walked up to Malfoy and brushed his hair off his face. "It's so strange to see him like this. He looks exactly like you did."

"He doesn't look peaceful," Harry pointed out.

"Neither did you."

Harry pulled out both of his wands from his back pocket. He took the wand that had originally been Draco's and placed it in his outstretched hand. He pressed it into his palm and closed Draco's fist around it. The wand was home again, he thought, but nothing really happened. Harry frowned.

"You expected him to wake up!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head.

Harry blushed profusely. "I'd hoped."

Hermione sat on a chair near the bed and looked down at Draco Malfoy, wondering. "I know what you mean."

Harry looked at Draco and his closed eyes, his fingers relaxed but still holding the wand a bit. "We should get going," Harry said, finally. "It's kind of sad, you know, him being all alone here."

Hermione nodded, grabbing her purse to go.

Suddenly, Harry felt the temperature in the room drop. He stood, frozen in place, as the air around them grew heavy and Harry felt his heartbeat slow. "Dementors," he said to Hermione.

No sooner had she stood and taken her wand out that the shadowy creatures descended, through the windows and the walls. Harry felt them suck the joy out of the air, and the pain out of his soul, and expose it for all to see. His mother's dying screams, his father's final words, Sirius leaving the world, Fred's final smile. His scar pulsating, he took out his wand and attempted a Patronus Charm, but he felt as if both his arms were being ripped away by the dementors. He couldn't see Hermione, couldn't hear her voice. He tried again and again to point his wand skywards and bring forward his Patronus but nothing came.

And then, out of the darkness, a ball of light in the shape of a fierce dragon, blue but tinged in green, rode across the black air and filled it to burst. He heard a screamed whisper of "Expecto Patronum" ringing in his ears as the dragon chased the dementors away before disappearing through the wall.

With heaving breaths Harry looked over to Hermione, who'd been crouching on the floor covering her ears. Her wand had crashed on the floor. He then looked over at the bed, where Draco Malfoy sat, awake, his wand pointed sharply at the wall the dementors had disappeared through.

He looked from Hermione to Harry to the wand in his hand, then down at himself wearing pajamas on a ratty hospital bed. He lowered his wand hand and tried to say something, but no sound came out.

Hermione pointed her wand at his throat and whispered, "Episkey"

Draco swallowed hard and used his voice for the first time in a year to express his feelings most succintly by bellowing, "What the actual fuck?"


	5. Chapter 5

"We don't have time for this," Hermione said, looking out the window. She could see other dementors circling the sky outside, which had quickly grown dark. She'd taken some clothes out of her purse and tossed them at Malfoy, who was not helping at all. She'd chucked some chocolate his way as well.

"Why am I here? And why the hell should I put on these filthy muggle clothes?" he insisted, mouth full of chocolate, like a petulant child. "Also, I can't move my legs."

Hermione pointed her wand at Malfoy again and strengthened his legs temporarily.

"Malfoy, I swear we'll explain in the car," Harry said, glancing out the door to see if anyone was coming. He reached into his backpack for the invisibility cloak. "Our fifteen minutes are almost up."

"A car?" Malfoy insisted. "A Muggle car?"

Hermione lost her patience. "You either put those clothes on or I will make you walk out of here naked, so help me Merlin."

Draco harrumphed but acquiesced. "Turn around."

"Oh, like I'd want to see your underwear."

"I don't wear underwear," he posited.

Hermione's cheeks flushed a deep red and she walked over to Harry to hand him some chocolate as well.

"You too, Potter," Draco added.

They both turned around. Harry rummaged in his bag looking for his invisibility cloak and finding it, unfurled it.

"Done," Draco finished. He looked… odd… in jeans and an old Clash t-shirt. "What is The Clash?" he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took the cloak from Harry. "Put this on and stay between Harry and me. Let's try to get you out of here in one piece." She spoke to invisible Draco with the tone of a disappointed mother. "And no funny business."

/ / / / / / /

The elf nurse eyed them strangely as they walked, Harry and Hermione flanking empty space.

"There was some commotion, I heard," the nurse said as they left.

"It was just…"

"There was just…"

Harry and Hermione spoke at a time and Draco sniggered under the cloak. Harry elbowed him.

"The storm makes all our patients a bit antsy," the nurse finished.

"Yes, exactly," Hermione answered, walking through the wall to the standard hospital wing, and hurrying both men to the elevator.

"You two are so cute it's sickening," Malfoy said under the cloak. "I wonder what Weasley would say."

Harry exchanged a knowing look with Hermione, and decided against answering questions until they got to the car. But no sooner had they gotten off the elevator that their plan began to go awry. Eight Aurors walked through the front door of the hospital, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry looked slightly different with a beard and cap but Hermione was easily recognizable. Hermione's breath hitched and she turned a corner, pulling Draco along into a supply closet, Harry following close behind.

"This is a nightmare," Hermione whispered.

"Maybe we can all fit under the cloak," Harry suggested, knowing it was a bad idea the second he said it.

"We're not twelve anymore. Even Malfoy's shoes are showing." Hermione pointed at the floor, the trainers she'd provided for Draco were the only visible part of him.

"You do realize we're wizards, you gits? Can't we just Apparate or Floo out?" Malfoy asked, confused.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry and Hermione hissed unanimously.

Hermione found a bottle of small capsules and tossed two at Malfoy. "Take those, they'll help with your legs." Then she looked at Harry, fresh out of ideas.

Harry looked around the supply closet they were in. He spotted uniforms, some robes, a wheelchair. "I have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

/ / / / / /

Hermione looked very uncomfortable in the Mediwitch uniform, pushing the wheelchair through the hospital corridor. She'd put on a cap and a surgical mask, and wheeled Harry along, his face also covered with a surgical mask and his head hanging low, pretending to be passed out. Draco trailed along, covered in the cloak.

"This is a stupid plan," Draco muttered. He could see people all around them turning to look at the man in the wheelchair. "They think you're a sick Muggle."

"That's what we want them to think," Hermione muttered through gritted teeth.

She pushed through the crowd of people who'd gathered to look at the Aurors.

"And how is this roleplaying game going to get us out? Potter looks like he's dying, why would they let him leave?" Malfoy added.

"I don't need to get through, I just need the Aurors to walk past us," Hermione said. She rounded another corner and watched from the sidelines as the Aurors took the stairs up to the next floor. "There they go."

She turned and made her way down another hallway, towards the mannequin entrance, when she heard someone call her name. She froze.

"Hermione! Hermione Granger!" She turned to look and saw with wide eyes that Neville Longbottom was calling them.

"Not now, Neville," she said tensely. But it was too late. Kingsley had heard Neville calling her and had turned to see her. "Dammit."

"Hermione, is that Harry?" Neville asked again.

Hermione turned her wand to Neville and yelled, "Petrificus Totalus. Sorry again, Neville."

She turned her back to him and started to run, pushing the chair, but Harry saw no point in keeping up the ruse. He stood and started to run as well. "Keep up, Malfoy," he yelled.

Hermione turned back, wand in hand, and threw out a levitation spell which made all the parchment charts and trays in the hospital jump up and float in mid-air for a moment. Draco pulled off the invisibility cloak and tossed it to Harry.

"Keep tripping on it," he said, as he ran. His legs weren't that strong but he wasn't going to stay and find out what the Aurors were there for.

They reached the car and with a gasp Hermione realized she'd locked the keys inside. She tried the doors to no avail.

"Really, Granger, wake up," Draco muttered. "Alohamora," he indicated, wand pointed.

Both doors burst open and Draco dove into the tiny backseat. Hermione and Harry took their places. Harry pointed his wand at the hospital door and yelled "Colloportus", effectively shutting the doors and locking them as witches and wizards rushed to follow them.

"Hurry," he told Hermione, who nervously started the car.

"How do you always manage to find trouble, Harry?" Hermione wondered, as the car sped down a busy street, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.

"Trouble finds me," Harry muttered.

"Oh, no… This time it was you. Let's give Malfoy his wand back, maybe he'll wake up," Hermione said, imitating him. "And there you go, not even a thanks," she added, swerving right.

"Look at the road," Malfoy said, absently. "You'll get us all killed and then it will all be for nothing."

Hermione looked over at Harry as if to say, See?

"He's got a point, please do look at the road," Harry pointed out. Hermione turned the steering wheel violently, first left, then right.

"Can I ask where we're going?" Draco asked.

"NO!" Hermione answered, turning again, this time onto a road that culminated in a dead end. She stopped the car. "Actually, I have no idea where we're going because I wasn't planning on becoming a fugitive today."

"Well, I didn't expect Dementors in the hospital, to be quite honest," Harry countered. "Or Aurors. Or Neville." He swore under his breath, very creatively. "I never expect Neville."

"What now?" Hermione asked, more worried than she tried to let on.

Harry shrugged. "The Burrow?" he offered. It was the only place he could think of.

"By all means, let's bring some Weasley's into this," Draco drawled, amused.

Harry turned back to look at him. "You can always get out here and walk. We're twenty minutes from Picadilly Circus, I'm sure you'll find your way around London without getting run over by a bus. Then, with no money, find your way to the Manor where your mother is most definitely not expecting to see you. Go on, then." Harry waved a hand at him. "Go on."

Draco looked away from Harry and out the window. He didn't say much else.

"Thought so," Harry said to himself. "Can you get us to the Burrow?" Harry asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded and took out the mobile she'd stuffed in her purse.

Harry looked puzzled. "You said no complex magic."

"I'm not using it as a Portkey," she said, pushing the buttons on the phone. "Just thought maybe it would be nice to give Arthur and Molly a head's up." Hermione sighed. "The Burrow's got a phone now."

/ / / / / / / / /

They drove slowly now, Hermione tensely keeping her eyes on the road so as not to miss the turn onto the fields. Harry kept running the events of the day through his head. The sun had started to set, and once Hermione turned onto the dirt road, the Burrow was the only speck of light in the distance.

To be honest, he enjoyed seeing Hermione drive. He liked the combination of a Muggle life and a wizarding life, a seamless ebb and flow, driving a car but getting directions by wand. She had relaxed slightly and Harry had found a station on the radio that she liked. The music filled the car as they drove along. Every once in a while, she would sing out a verse with a shaky voice.

Draco had leaned against the window the entire drive, seeing the countryside for the first time from this vantage point. He kept silent, and Harry wondered if he didn't know what to say or was thinking about what the best insult would be. Surely Draco had not missed that Hermione had to convince the Weasleys over the phone so that Draco would be welcome. Surely.

The Burrow teetered taller than Harry had remembered, which led him to believe that maybe Charlie or Bill were home. The house tended to expand and contract depending on who was visiting. Maybe Molly had prepared rooms for them already. Hermione gave Harry a sideways glance and a smile, remembering the times they'd been here as kids.

The car reached the house slowly, still Hermione had to break hard to avoid hitting Crookshanks, who jumped into the car to say hello.

"Hello, you," she said, ruffling the cat and scratching behind its ears. The cat seemed to recognize Harry, purring softly at him. It paid no attention to Malfoy. Hermione turned back to Draco and gave him a stern look. "You so much as look at any of the Weasley's in a way I find offensive and you will find yourself sleeping in the car with a couple of garden gnomes."

Draco nodded slowly, making no attempt to put up a fight.

As soon as they were out of the car, Harry and Hermione were met with the force of Molly Weasley's hugs. Draco stood off to one side, looking uncomfortable and completely out of place. Hermione had given Molly the gist of their situation over the phone, so as soon as they were in the house Molly took a few minutes casting charms outside her door.

"There," she said, with a smile of satisfaction. "That will do until Arthur comes in the morning."

She bid them to sit at the kitchen table and put on the kettle and fussed with some biscuit tins. Hermione still wore the St. Mungo's uniform they'd stolen, and it made for a strange sight and awkward conversation.

Draco looked around as Harry and Hermione made small talk. He glanced at the clock above the stove, a funny clock with faces on it. He noticed that Fred Weasley's face wasn't on it. He felt his stomach sink. He'd seen him wounded in battle but hadn't known. He turned to look at the kettle.

Molly Weasley did not address Draco directly, but slid a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits in his direction.

"Thank you," he said, almost a whisper. He looked up to see her smiling softly at him.

"Drink it slow," she said, sitting by Hermione. She gave Hermione a pat on her back and they began talking about Crookshanks and how fat he'd gotten.

Harry looked across the table at Draco, who looked completely out of place in the Weasley's kitchen.

"You look like shite," Harry said to Draco, quietly enough that neither Hermione nor Molly would hear.

"You don't look like the cover of Witch Weekly either," Draco countered.

Harry nodded, scratching his beard a bit. "Want to… take a walk?" he asked.

Draco nodded. He was too confused to just have tea and biscuits. And Potter at least looked like he might know something.

"Molly, is it ok if we take a walk in the garden? You know, fresh air," Harry said, nodding towards the back door.

"Sure, dear, I'll keep the cups warm," she said, pointing her wand at the tea. "Hermione'll keep me company," she added. Hermione gave Harry a half smile and stroked the old cat on her lap.

Harry nodded and stepped outside, followed by Draco.

/ / / / / /

"So we've been asleep… for a year," Draco said slowly, trying to wrap his head around what Harry had told him.

Harry nodded, a slow, deliberate nod that seemed to convey that there would be no logic to anything he could say to explain it.

"How is that even possible?" Draco asked, his mind running through bodily functions and improbability and what it could all mean.

"Sustenance charms, Madam Pomfrey said."

"That's not what I meant," Draco replied, impatient. "It's either very old magic or very new magic if no one knows what happened."

"McGonagall said no one could figure it out."

Draco looked skeptical. "And you've been at Hogwarts and I've been at St. Mungos and we just… woke up. No apparent reason, we were fine all of a sudden."

"Well, I woke up a few days ago. You woke up… well, you know.."

Draco sat on a tree stump. An incensed garden gnome flipped him the bird and went to find another spot to sleep. "Why'd you bring back the wand, Potter?" he asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Thought it was about time to give it back," Harry shrugged.

"You could have kept it." Draco fiddled with a bit of grass near his foot. "You won it fair."

"What do I need two wands for?" Harry said, as if that was enough of an explanation.

Draco gave that thought a minute. "Thank you," he said with a catch in his voice, as soft as he could say it. He had not considered that life would lead him to thanking Harry Potter for anything. "I mean, for the wand and the waking up, not so much for the running from the law thing."

"Yeah, we're not quite sure what that's about either," Harry replied. "I don't think it's a good idea to contact your family just yet."

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't planning on it," Draco answered. "They're not the warm-welcome type anyway."

"Yeh," Harry agreed. He kicked a small rock. It jumped back on his shoe, and he kicked it further back. It came back. Enchanted by the twins, most likely, before… everything.

"Maybe the Dementors were there for me," Draco said, looking at his shoes. They were definitely not the shoe's he'd have chosen on his own, but they were evidently the shoes he deserved. His feet ached. "Maybe it's my time to go to Azkaban and they sensed I was awake. I cast unforgivables. I was..."

Harry watched him closely. He seemed afraid. "Why didn't they take you before, then?"

"Can't torture a dead man?" Draco countered, uncertain.

Harry felt a pain in his chin, and looked down to find a garden gnome. He grabbed it and swung away. "Dumbledore used to say that there are fates worse than death. I'm sure the Dementors know a few of those." He watched the garden gnome disappear in the distance. "If they'd wanted to get you, they would have you. I don't think... everyone knows Lucius..."

Draco nodded. He laughed to himself a bit. "I thought I was cut out for that life. That I was made of stronger stuff. You know, be a Death Eater, die for the cause or get locked up for the cause or go to fancy balls to raise funds for the cause. Mostly the latter."

"You're kind of an arse, Malfoy. But I think you were stronger than Lucius made you out to be." He went on, quietly. "You could have given me up to Bellatrix. You could have just walked away that day during the battle."

Draco didn't quite know what to answer, so he didn't.

He looked around. "For what it's worth, you're kind of an arse, too," he told Harry.

"I've been called a pain in the arse, on numerous occasions," Harry murmured.

Draco's eyes darted to the rooms above, forever emptier than they'd been a year ago. "It's my fault, you know. What happened. At least a part of it is my fault."

Harry shrugged. "You made up for it, a bit."

"You can't make up for the dead, Potter. That's not how it works," Draco answered. "There's no way to balance that scale."

"You can try," Harry offered. "You can do better."

"Easy for you to say," Draco countered.

Harry sat on another stump in the garden, facing Draco.

They stayed there in silence for a long time. The crickets sang merciless.

Harry looked up at the stars. "I dreamt your Patronus. A few nights ago. The whole year… I don't remember dreaming. But when I came back, the first night, I dreamt and saw the dragon."

"That wasn't mine," Draco answered. "I've never cast that spell before."

"A Patronus is unique to each wizard. And that one wasn't mine," Harry explained. He pulled out his wand and cast his Patronus softly. A magnificent stag galloped through the garden. "It must be yours."

Draco took it in. "What on earth were those dementors doing there anyway, then?"

"I gather Arthur will tell us in the morning," Harry said, standing. He yawned. "Come on, we better go find our rooms and get some rest." Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I could barely walk the first two days, and you just sprinted like a madman. You must be dead tired."

"I've felt better, I'll tell you that." Draco took a second to get up. "Hey, Potter," he called, pensive. "Do you think… Do you think that people can start over?"

Harry looked up at the sky again, thinking for a second before answering. "I have to, don't I?" he said, pausing for a second to look at Malfoy. "Otherwise I'm just The Boy Who Didn't Die for the rest of my life. And I don't much fancy that idea."

Harry gave the sky one last look before turning to go inside.

Draco looked up to where Harry had found his answer, but all he could see were clouds and stars. He followed into the house, his hands in his pockets, still confused.

/ / / / / /

"Alright, Harry you can take Ron's room and Hermione, you take Ginnys. Draco, you can take Percy's room, it's the tidiest. Ginny's staying at the twins'… with George and Ron in the city tonight, I mean." Molly looked at the ceiling at her slip, and then back at the two boys and Hermione. "Arthur will be back early tomorrow and you can ask him anything you need."

Draco walked into the room that Mrs. Weasley indicated. Molly handed him a stack of old clothes, saying, "These should fit, Percy was that skinny." Draco nodded a soft thanks and was closing the door when Mrs. Weasley added, "There's a knit jumper for the cold there, too."

Harry and Hermione exchanged knowing smiles. Draco had teased them incessantly for those jumpers and now he was thanking Mrs. Weasley for one. Profusely.

Mrs. Weasley turned and gave Harry and Hermione a hug at the same time. "I'm so happy to have you both here. Oh, Harry we thought we'd lost you." She tried to fix his hair, as all the women in his life did, and failed. "And with a beard… you look so grown up."

A tear fell down her cheek but she wiped it away quickly. "I'm going up to bed, and I'll fall asleep right away," she added, winking slyly at Hermione. "And my room has noise-proofing charms."

Hermione went beet-red, and Harry looked at his shoes as if they were very interesting indeed.

They bid her goodnight.

/ / / / / / /

Keenly aware that their assigned rooms belonged to both their exes, they kept a distance between them. Hermione had lain on the bed of Ron's room and Harry had taken a sleeping bag from Ron's closet. Hermione had offered to move to Ginny's room but they were still wide awake and full of energy.

Hermione's arm hung over the bed and Harry held her hand from his place on the floor. His fingers entwined with hers and she kept trying to rehash the day, trying to understand.

"Did he wake up because of the dementors or because of the wand? Or was it both? And what does it mean?" she asked the ceiling. "And why did you both disappear into yourselves for a year? And why did you wake up now?" Hermione sighed. "I wish…"

"… that Dumbledore was here," Harry finished.

"He'd have an answer at least," Hermione said. "Maybe not the right answer but an answer. Or maybe a question that would lead us in the right direction."

"It feels like my brain is melting trying to figure this out," Harry said.

They heard a soft knock on the door, and then it was pushed open a bit. Hermione pulled her hand away and turned to look. It was Draco Malfoy, wearing flannel pajama pants and an old jumper with Percy's initial in front. It was a deep green.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Harry nodded.

Draco padded in, his footsteps silent and ghostlike. He sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Afraid to sleep and never wake again?" Harry asked, knowing the feeling. Nary a year ago, a question like that would have been a taunt. Now it was worded with deep concern. "Been there."

Draco nodded softly. "I'm trying to remember why we hated each other," Draco said, softly.

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows. "Well, you called me mudblood often. That was rude and quite racist."

"You were kind of a wanker, really," Harry added.

"You were both kind of show offs, I remember that," Draco countered.

"Oh, and you also joined the dark side, but I guess that was family pressure. My parents wanted me to be a dentist, yours wanted you to be a Death Eater," Hermione mused. "It's the classic story of having to live up to family expectations. And failing."

"Also, you used your father's influence to get on the Quidditch team and impersonated Dementors once."

"Tried to kill Dumbledore. Tried to kill Katie."

"Didn't really manage much of that," Draco muttered. "Killing's not my thing, as it turns out," he added. "Quite crap at maiming as well."

"All in all, you were a very upstanding citizen, Malfoy." Hermione concluded.

"Shouldn't have asked," Draco said.

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "But I've decided to take a new approach to life. Waking up after a long nap really puts things in perspective."

"What's this new approach all about?" Hermione eyed him interested. "Does it involve not getting into trouble with the law?"

"Oh, I can't promise that," said Harry. "But trying to let go of old grudges and such."

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, letting the sound of crickets from outside start to filter into the room.

"Can I sleep in here?" Draco asked, finally revealing his intention. "Percy's room has his Hogwarts' schedule still up on the walls. It's appaling."

Harry nodded. "Take the sleeping bag," he said, standing.

"And where will you go?" Draco asked, but already Hermione was scooting over to make room for Harry.

Draco was about to comment but Hermione shot him a look that reduced him to silence.

"Not a word, Malfoy," Hermione said, pulling the covers over her legs. "Not a damn word."

/ / / / / / / / / /

Draco regretted his choice of sleeping arrangements as soon as Hermione put her wand out.

For one, he was sleeping on the floor.

Malfoys did not sleep on floors. It was practically on his family crest. Malfoy – Maledictum Bed Est or something.

Second of all, it was the floor of Ron Weasley's room, while Harry Potter and Hermione Granger flirted and held hands a scant foot away. And he could hear them doing their Gryffindor flirting, all tame and lovey.

To make matters worse, the large orange cat that Hermione had been petting before seemed to decide that Draco's stomach was the best place to sleep, so he'd come in and settled there, purring loudly.

"Move," he hissed, but Crookshanks was not amenable to suggestions of the type, and showed Draco his claws.

He lay a hand across his face and, lying completely still, he tried to pretend he wasn't listening to Harry and Hermione's whispers.

Meanwhile, on the bed, Hermione was trying to suppress a giggle at Crookshanks' newly found sleeping arrangements. Harry, whose back was to Malfoy, was getting a play by play from Hermione, in close whispers.

"And now Crookshanks just threatened Malfoy and now I think he's given up," Hermione said. "It's actually kind of cute."

Harry contained his laughter. He tried to think of something witty to say, but being this close to her, even with Malfoy only a few steps away, clouded his concentration. They were holding hands like a couple of kids, and he was this close to kicking Draco out of the room in exchange for some privacy. But this was still Ron's room, next door to Ginny's room and maybe it was all for the best that Draco was right there.

"So, are you planning on kissing me goodnight?" Hermione asked, as if it was the most logical thing and he was daft for not thinking it.

He nodded slowly and drew her closer, kissing her softly on the lips, wondering how much further he could go and still come back. Not much, it turned out, as the kiss deepened and he found himself thinking "just a little more," and touching her hips under the elastic of her pajamas. She was wiser than anyone else in the room and broke it off with a deep blush he could still see in the moonlight. He took a deep breath and turned to face the ceiling.

"You're trying to kill me," he stated firmly.

"Yes, I'm a double agent, all these years I've been scheming against you and now my time has come," she whispered, resting her cheek on his chest. "We should sleep."

"We should," he agreed, kissing her forehead and trying to avoid thinking about the blonde, Slytherin elephant in the room.

/ / / / / / / /

"Is this some sort of joke?" Ron wailed upon sighting his room.

Malfoy had been snoring softly, Crookshanks rising and falling in tandem with his breath. Hermione and Harry were on his bed, their legs a tangle under the sheets, so close to one another that it was hard to tell their limbs apart. To top it all off, as soon as Ron opened the door, Crookshanks ran to Ron and attempted to scratch his feet.

His complaint woke all three of them and caused Hermione to give a little scream, which in turn startled Harry and sent him scrambling out of the bed, stepping on Malfoy's hand.

Ron put his hands in his temples and turned around. "Breakfast is ready," he mumbled as he stepped out. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Why is that?" Ginny asked, stepping into the room Ron had just left and finding Harry on the ground, Draco standing shaking his hand, and Hermione's face buried in Ron's old pillow. "Oh," Ginny said, her face very matter-of-fact. She rolled her eyes a bit. "Cold eggs are quite gross," she added, shrugging at them.

Draco looked at Harry and Hermione and shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't really ask to join the circus, you know." He stood, straightened out his Percy Weasley knit jumper and started out of the room. "Don't make me go down there alone."


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs. Weasley had all but set up a feast and was wiping her hands on her apron when they came downstairs. Harry felt his stomach rumble as he approached the table, but Ron was a no-show.

"He's outside," Ginny said, her head motioning towards the garden. "Moping and chopping wood. One might draw conclusions about symbolism."

Molly gave Ginny a disapproving glance, but said nothing. Ginny smiled and forked a piece of sausage, as a for example.

"Molly…" Harry started, but Mrs. Weasley interrupted him.

"Go ahead, get him in here," she added. Then she turned to Draco and Hermione. "Sit, sit, get some food in you. Arthur will be here soon, and you'll want to be good and fed by then, Hermione. He's discovered the interwebby thing now and will not let up about it.

/ / / / / /

Harry found Ron cutting firewood with great intent. He was using an axe, no magic, and doing a bad job of it.

"Hey," Harry said, shielding his face from a flying bit of wood. "Need any help with that?"

Ron looked at his axe, considered driving it through Harry's head, thought better of it and raised it up, then swung it back down, missing the log completely. "Sod off."

"That's not going to happen."

"Malfoy, Harry," Ron paused. "You brought Malfoy."

"Is that what you're upset about?" Harry asked. "It was just for last night. After we talk to Arthur we'll be out your hair."

"He's an arse. And you're an even bigger arse for bringing him," Ron declared, pointing wildly with the axe, the wood forgotten for a moment. "Is that what you're upset about, he says," he added, imitating Harry unkindly. He swung his axe again and left it in the tree stump. "No, that's not bloody all I'm upset about. You and Hermione sleeping in my bed is a close second. Photo finish, really."

"We just slept," Harry explained, but didn't meet Ron's eyes.

Ron sniggered. "Right. And I'm a Chaser for the Chudley Cannons."

"I swear," Harry attempted, pushing his glasses back up past the bridge of his nose. "Well, we kissed, but..."

There really was nothing Harry could add that would make the situation better, so he thought he'd better shut up now.

"I know you've liked her forever. Everyone could see. And I had her fair and square, I was with her first. But then you had to go and die," Ron said, defeated. "How do I compete with that, Harry?"

Harry had no answers.

"Dead Harry. Or almost-dead-unconscious-Harry. And she was there, day in and day out."

Harry approached Ron, nervous. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Ron shrugged. "We lasted all of six months, you know? And then it was over, because we were never in the same place." Ron's eyes were full of hurt, but it wasn't something he could explain. "I was here and she was… wherever you were. We didn't think you'd ever come back. And now that you're here, you're kissing Hermione and chumming about with Malfoy and I don't know where I fit in."

Harry took a deep breath. "You're my friend, my best friend, the only one who really knows all we've been through. You don't have to fit in," Harry offered. "This – the war – it was never your choice, the fighting and the dying. You did it to be a good friend and then you kept on because you found it was your fight as well. But you can be my friend and have your own life. Do what you want, be who you want to be. Travel the world or… go to a movie." Harry laughed. "A wise man with red hair told me that, once."

Ron took a moment to consider this. "I like the shop, but it isn't mine. I love Hermione, but I'm not in love with her. I don't want my parents to have to watch another one of us die. But I also don't know what I want out of life anymore. It's been a year since the war ended, Harry, and here we are. None of us is better. None of us is over it." He sighed.

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, about Hermione." He shrugged a bit, unnerved. "I didn't know myself, I guess. Not really."

"We all knew," Ron shrugged. "Ginny was the one that told me we had to let go. She's the only one who's taken it well, Gin has. I think… I think she likes girls. So, you know, there's more competition out there."

"She'll make some girl a very lucky girl," Harry added, unhelpfully. "She's very smart."

"Too good for you, in any case," Ron agreed. He looked towards the house. "Hermione, too. You better treat her at least better than I did. It would be a shame if she changed her mind and decided she wanted a Weasley back in her life."

"She'd have plenty to choose from. I hear Percy's single and doing great at the Ministry."

"Shut up, you sod," Ron said, letting go of the axe and giving Harry a punch on the shoulder. "Let's go eat now, or Mum will never let me hear the end of it. Where are your manners, Ron? Harry needs his sustenance, Ron. Look what good manners Draco has, Ron."

"He does have impeccable manners," Harry conceded, walking with Ron towards the kitchen.

/ / / / / / / /

Draco did have impeccable table manners and ate slowly, deliberately. It was, Hermione thought, quite unnerving. Ginny couldn't look away.

"This is very good, Mrs. Weasley, thank you so much for your hospitality," he'd said, sipping his tea. "I do hope we'll be out of your hair soon."

"Nonsense, Draco. It's been lovely to see you all up and about. Another scone?" Molly had said, offering a second helping.

Draco had smiled. "Don't mind if I do."

"Love potions are dark magic, you know, and my Mum is married," Ginny stated, taking a scone as well.

"Ginny!" Molly said, almost choking.

"I'm just putting it out there."

Draco coughed down a laugh before taking another sip of tea.

"What is holding up Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked, uncomfortable.

"Probably a heart-to-heart about you," Ginny answered with a straight face.

Hermione let her head fall to her hands, a silent prayer for their return to the table, so she wouldn't have to deal with it all.

At that moment, Arthur apparated into the hall, just as Harry and Ron were walking in through the side door.

Hermione looked up at the sky and murmured a small thank you to whatever deity had been listening.

Ginny enjoyed making everything more awkward and uncomfortable. "So, you've decided how you're splitting up Hermione, then?" she asked.

"Oh, every other week and we'll switch holidays," Ron answered, not skipping a beat. "I'll get her this Christmas but Harry'll get Halloween."

"Everyone at this table except Molly is a complete idiot," Hermione declared, walking away from the table.

Harry, confused, watched her leave. "I didn't say a thing."

Arthur walked into the room and, taking off his scarf, placed a knowing hand on Harry's shoulder. "Welcome back."

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

The time it took for Ron, Arthur and Harry to finish breakfast had given Hermione some time to cool down and decide she really wasn't that angry at Ron or Harry (the latter still was unsure as to what he'd done wrong). She decided that she'd forgive them and ignore calling them stupid, and they decided they'd ignore her calling them stupid as well. Arthur had taken one last sip of tea and led them into his study, which was more of a small workshop full of Muggle artifacts. Though Mr. Weasley was now a higher-ranking Ministry Official, his passion was still figuring out new Muggle things. At this time, his desk was occupied by in-line skates, a laptop, and sixty different mobile phones.

"This is the future, boys," he said, his hands showing the tabletop with flourish. "I'm working on a way to bring electricity into the house to charge them, but so far Molly hasn't gone out long enough for me to manage that. Hermione, I trust the Portkey worked well."

Hermione nodded, sheepishly.

"Alright then," Arthur veered towards a more unpleasant subject. "You've been back for all of three days, Harry, and you somehow managed to wake Draco Malfoy, break him out, wake up dementors, anger Aurors, and destroy the filing system of St. Mungo's." He sighed loudly. "Did I leave anything out?"

"Hermione did the filing system," Harry cleared up. "Otherwise that's… accurate."

Arthur pressed his palms to his eyes and rubbed them slowly. "I would have to arrest you if I could figure out what for." He sighed. "Did anyone recognize you?" he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head.

"Why were there Dementors in St. Mungo's?" asked Hermione. "Dementors anywhere that is not Azkaban are never a good sign."

"As you know, Dementors aren't very forthcoming with information. My best guess is that they were tracking Harry but I don't know why or who to ask," he said. "They arrived when you did, left when you did, and only attracted attention of the Auror Department because you decided to fight them with a very energy-consuming Patronus… You took out the Muggle Power Grid for the entire city block. That's why the Aurors were there."

Draco looked stunned. He'd never performed magic of any considerable power, nothing like that, before.

"So… they're not after me?" Draco seemed a bit relieved at the prospect that he wasn't going to be incarcerated.

"Why would they be after you?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Why wouldn't Dementors be after him?" Ron countered. "Show us the Dark Mark. Go ahead."

Draco shook his head but remained silent. He tugged at his sleeve. "What Dark Mark?" he asked, clearly lying.

"Stop it, both of you," Hermione interjected.

"He started it," both Draco and Ron replied.

Harry tried to move the conversation back in the right direction. "Who should we talk to? Who should we trust?"

"What for?" asked Arthur confused.

"To figure out what happened to us, why we were asleep for months, why we're awake now, why the Dementors came after me - if that's what happened."

Arthur scratched his head a bit, unsure of how to answer. "It's been less than a year… we haven't finished weeding out the Ministry, everything is in shambles. I…"

"Maybe an unspeakable," Hermione offered.

"As their name well explains, that is impossible, m'dear," Arthur countered, patting her shoulder. "We have to look back to what you both have in common and then maybe we can figure out a right way.

"Ollivander," Draco muttered. "The only thing we have in common is that we've been exchanging wands."

"Hellspawn's got a point," Ron conceded. "You also have Voldemort in common."

"We're also both far better wizards than you, but that's neither here nor there," Draco said. Ron huffed, and was about to speak, but Arthur cleared his throat.

Arthur seemed to weight both options, and leaned towards the least problematic. "Ollivander's is not a bad place to start. Though getting you both in and out of there without getting spotted might be problematic. I'll look into it." He sighed, tired. "It's still very complicated over at the Ministry. I trust only the few that were in the Order with us, Kingsley mainly, but after Hermione's little stunt yesterday, we'd best stay off the Auror's "raydart", as Muggles say."

Arthur stood, "That's settled then. I'll contact Ollivander and arrange safe passage. But I cannot accompany you and after that I won't be able to help much more." He looked apologetic. "Our job at the Ministry is still too important and I cannot jeopardize it by harboring… well, not fugitives exactly, but I cannot be fraternizing with Lucius Malfoy's son." He set a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I'm sure you understand, Draco."

"I'm very sorry to put you in this position," Draco said, much to everyone's surprise.

Arthur Weasley looked at Draco and found in him something he recognized in himself. "Sometimes choice is taken away from us," he said, deliberately. "You are not your father."

Draco nodded, speechless.

Arthur left the room and the four that stayed behind looked to each other.

Ron broke the silence. "I call bullshit," he said, a bit disgusted. "I think Malfoy here must know something else."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "He was gone, just like I was."

"Maybe you know something more as well, and just can't remember it," Ron offered, not ready to back down.

Hermione stood between them. "Leave it be, Ron. This is their thing," she declared. "They need to sort it out.

"Yeah, but they're happy to drag you down with them," Ron muttered. "It will always be like this, a war, a mystery, danger."

Hermione gave Ron a sideways smile. "I'm not scared, Ron. And I know my role in all this."

"And what's that?" Ron asked.

"I'm the one that keeps everyone from getting blown up," she stated, calm as anything.

Ron shook his head and walked out. Harry wanted to follow him but Hermione held him back. "He needs to sort himself out as well. Let him go."

Harry nodded.

Draco took a seat in front of an old typewriter, staring at it in disbelief. "I think I have an idea that no one is going to like," he said, feeling a bit weak in the knees.

"Can't be worse than trying to get an unspeakable to speak," Hermione said, laughing at herself.

"Oh, yes, it can," Draco replied. And when he looked up at Harry, they both knew exactly what he meant.

/ / / / / / / / /

"You're both absolutely mental," Hermione hissed. "Also, it's impossible."

"Well…" Harry started, but Hermione put up her hand.

"Impossible."

"I mean, the logic is sound," Harry tried that way. "It's really the most logical step."

"You're not going to convince me to understand your convoluted logic," Hermione countered.

"I did say you wouldn't like it," Draco offered.

"But it's a good idea," Harry helped.

"It's the worst idea you've ever had, Harry Potter, and that's saying a lot," Hermione answered, busying herself with Arthur's collection of rubber chickens. She pointed one at them, haughtily. "You're insane. Both of you."

"She used your full name," Malfoy pointed out. "Must be angry."

Harry tried not to laugh. "Must be."

"Oh no you don't, you don't get to gang up on me. It's not even the worst plan of all time, it's hardly even a plan."

"I didn't say it was perfect," Draco countered. "Did I say it was perfect?"

"I didn't hear it," Harry agreed. "It does need a bit of ironing out, would you say?"

"Yes, of course. We'd need weapons, allies and a bit of luck," Draco suggested.

"You two should go on the road together," Hermione shot them daggers. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we please just stop for a moment and consider this "idea" of yours a backup plan? Like a plan C or, even better, D? I mean, maybe we'll find what we need at Ollivander's. Maybe we won't need to break into Azkaban to interrogate Lucius and then get kissed by Dementors and cut down in our prime. Surely there will be another way."

"Our way would be more direct," Harry said.

"But Granger's way is safer, I guess," Draco added.

"So we can save your plan as a backup plan," Harry told Hermione.

"Sounds fair," Draco concurred.

Hermione shook her head. "I still don't get why you think interrogating the most untrustworthy man on the face OF THE PLANET is the best way to get an answer to what happened to you."

"Better the devil you know," Harry said, his head tilting towards Malfoy.

"And he is a devil we most definitely know," Malfoy chimed in.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know what possessed me to get you two in the same room. I think I liked it better when you hated each other."

And with nothing else to say, her shoulders sagging, she walked out of the room.

/ / / / / / / / /

Lunch was a silent affair, scowls travelling from all sides of the table. Ginny was angry for being left out, Ron was angry at the world, Hermione was angry at Harry's cavalier attitude. Draco was angry at himself. And Harry was disappointed. He'd hoped that his own forgiveness of Malfoy would help broker peace. But he still wasn't sure why he had forgiven Malfoy. He'd woken with a feeling of peace, and he could not yet explain why that peace was so intimately related to seeing Draco wake. He felt drawn to him, as if he was a friend he had not seen in a very long time.

After lunch everyone went their separate ways, and Harry decided to sit in the garden for a while, trying not to grow impatient, not to think about his next move. He tried to remember what McGonagall had said, about starting to live the life he'd earned in battle, but though that it was much easier said than done, especially since he couldn't be sure the battle was over.

"Hey," Ginny said. She'd stepped out of the house with a blanket and a cup of tea. She handed him both, raising an eyebrow and motioning for him to scoot over.

"Hey," he answered. He took the cup and sipped slowly, feeling himself warming up from the inside out. "I didn't even realize I was cold."

"Hermione sent it out for you," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "She may be cross at you but she does look out for you."

"Yeah, I'm getting people angry left and right, it appears."

"It's what you do best." Ginny leaned back on the seat and stared at Harry. "You should be happy. Riding broomsticks and doing cartwheels. We all celebrated when the war was won. But you didn't get to." She gave him a smile full of mischief. "I've got some firecrackers from the shop upstairs."

Harry laughed. There'd always been a lightness to Ginny. "Maybe later," he said.

He spotted Hermione walking off towards the toolshed in the back and nodded towards her. "Is she really angry?"

"Can't tell," Ginny admitted. "Girls are a mystery."

"Cheers to that," Harry agreed. "I should go and apologize, I guess. I mean, I'm sure I should apologize but I'm not entirely sure what for."

"Well, that year of sleeping surely didn't make you any wiser." Ginny pointed upstairs and said, "I'll get the fireworks going, don't take forever."

/ / / / / / / /

Harry walked in the same direction Hermione had taken off to. He wondered what he'd say when he got there. 'Thanks for the tea' came to mind, as wrong as it was.

He was lousy with words. He was all impulse and always saying the wrong thing.

He turned the corner and saw Hermione in the distance, her back to him. She was dialing a number on the mobile.

She waited for it to ring. Harry knew he was eavesdropping but couldn't help it.

"Hello, is this Mrs. Monica Wilkins?" Hermione asked into the phone. "Yes, good afternoon. I'm Jane from MobilePlanet and I'm calling about this wonderful opportunity to switch your mobile carrier with zero change fee."

She closed her eyes and listened intently to the voice on the other side of the line. Harry could see that as she paced, there was a tear streaking down her cheek.

"I understand. Have a very good day from us here at Mobile Planet," she finished, hanging up.

She crouched down to the ground and held her face in her hands for a few minutes, before wiping her eyes and standing again.

She immediately found herself looking straight into Harry's eyes. She fidgeted with the edge of her jumper.

Harry walked over to her and she slowly leaned into a hug, her breath warm against his jumper. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm working as a telemarketer to pay for school supplies?" Hermione asked.

"Your Mom and Dad," he whispered, understanding.

"Just twice a month. To make sure they're ok," Hermione explained. "Maybe when I graduate and I can make sure to keep them safe, I'll bring them back." She laughed softly. "I don't even know what safe means anymore. Maybe this is better."

"You could go there," Harry suggested. Even as he said it, he could feel himself being ripped apart.

"And leave you and Malfoy to storm Azkaban? You're joking," Hermione said, stifling a bitter laugh. She left the safety of his hug and took his hand, guiding him closer to the house.

Harry laughed. "We'd be brilliant."

"You'd be dead," Hermione declared, proud.

"Third time's the charm."

Hermione punched his arm. "Come on. I'll race you to the house. Last one there's a rotten flubberworm!"

And she just ran.

/ / / / / / / /

Draco had eaten and then had attempted to blend into the wallpaper but it was not an easy feat. So he'd instead wandered about the house and back to the small workshop Mr. Weasley kept in the back.

The older man had kindly allowed him to sit around while he worked on some muggle thing that Draco did not recognize. "It's a microwave," Arthur Weasley explained. "I used magic to power it for now. It heats things up."

"Like a warming charm," Draco said.

"It's even better than a warming charm. It works without magic. Have you ever seen an electric outlet?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe?"

"The Muggles have electricity and that electricity powers all sorts of things," Arthur explained. "Washing machines and tumble dryers, for clothes. In America they even have machines that wash their dishes. And microwaves," Arthur listed with admiration. "Because they have no magical means, they have found that, by using science, they can invent ways to make their lives easier and then they mass produce them. They really are quite extraordinary."

Draco had never stopped to think about Muggles in such detail. "They have cars. And phones," Draco offered.

"Yes, exactly," Arthur agreed. "There are, of course, many things that they cannot do or invent, because many of the things that magic can do will contradict the laws of nature in ways science cannot. But I believe we have much to learn from one another."

Draco nodded slowly.

"I know your father did not agree with these policies. The world that Voldemort and his followers envisioned would do away with non-magical beings," Arthur added softly. "But I think Muggle Studies should be mandatory now, after such a cruel and divisive war. Only by understanding one another can we truly begin to heal."

Arthur smiled, thinking of something. "Some Muggle writer once said, 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' Think about that. It's quite clever."

Draco felt observed. He grabbed a small object off the shelf, the first thing he saw: a keychain ring with something plastic at one end. "What's this?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation to something different.

"Oh, that is wonderful. They call it a Tamagotchi," Arthur mused. He pushed a small button and the small screen came to life. "It's an electronic pet. You feed it and care for it, and if you're lucky it doesn't die. And if it dies, it's got a reviving button. It's really something."

Draco stared at it oddly. The tiny screen came to life and an even smaller dot moved along it. "A pet."

"An electronic pet. On a keychain. It's brilliant." Draco was about to put it back when Arthur Weasley had a thought. "You should keep it," he said.

"But I don't have any keys," Draco replied.

"Then that's something to look forward to, isn't it?"

There was a sequence of pops and explosions coming from outside and Mr. Weasley smiled, pleased. "I guess Ginny has started the celebration. Come on, let's go!" Arthur led them outside, to a sky of exploding lights.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Ginny had set off an array of explosions that looked fit for a holiday. She had tuned one of Arthur's enchanted radios to play some music and had brought out a bottle of firewhiskey. Her short hair bounced up and down as she danced a bit.

"What's all this about?" asked Ron, covering his ears.

Ginny stood up on a table that she'd magically pushed outside, and cleared her throat as the others approached. "Witches and Wizards, hear ye, hear ye!" She gave them all a little bow and poured herself a shot of Firewhiskey. "Voldemort has been defeated and we are once again, among friends!" With that she glanced over at Ron, as if daring him to say something. "Tomorrow you will once again run out and do something incredibly stupid and foolhardy. But tonight," she took her shot. "Tonight… we celebrate!"

Ginny pointed her wand up at the sky and sparks shot out, activating the most wonderful display of fireworks Harry had ever seen.

Arthur helped Ginny off the table and they were soon joined by Molly in a loving hug. They looked up at the sky with hope, and it in turn gave them shapes of flowers and hearts in light.

Ron walked over to Harry and Hermione and gave them both a hug. He whispered, "Sorry," to both of them. "I love you," he added, looking at them both, holding both their hands. They laughed together as Ginny let out a dragon-shaped firework. "You wankers," Ron yelled over the music. He leaned in to Harry and smiled widely and Harry whispered an apology back at Ron, who waved it away.

Hermione laughed heartily and Harry hugged her with abandon. Ron went to join his parents near the table, taking a shot of the firewhiskey, smiling.

Draco stood off to one side, looking at the fireworks intently. He kept one hand in his pocket, touching the Tamagotchi keychain as if it was the most prized possession he'd ever had. It probably was.

Everything he'd ever had, was his father's. And now he owned nothing but a wand and some hand-me-downs from Hermione and Percy Weasley. His "electropic" pet was his only truly personal possession.

Harry joined him, away from the group, and they stood in silence watching the fireworks display. Hermione had started dancing silly with Ron under the shooting stars that Ginny kept cascading from the sky. Ginny was dancing on top of the table, Arthur spun Molly around and dipped her low to the ground.

"Why don't you go celebrate? Dance, drink, be merry," Draco said, tilting his head towards the festivities.

Harry glanced at him, then back at the sky. "There's this thing, this strange feeling that I've had ever since we saw each other again."

"Is it a feeling that Granger would be jealous of?" Draco quipped.

Harry rolled his eyes a bit and continued. "It's like I know you. Not like in school or during the war. Like I trust you."

Draco tried to keep his guard up. Without giving Harry a glance, he nodded. "I know what you mean."

Harry watched Hermione dancing, the light of the fireworks bouncing off her hair, her face. She turned and turned madly, truly happy and free. She shone bright. Harry sighed, then looked back at Draco, who found himself unable to avoid looking back.

"It's also accompanied by the feeling that the war isn't really over," Harry confessed. "And the knowledge that I can't tell anyone else that, anyone but you."

Draco felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. His mouth felt like cotton, and he needed to attack or retreat but couldn't. His fingers fiddled with the Tamagotchi again, willing himself to calm down. He had never been connected to anyone. Never been trustworthy.

"So… I'm going to have a drink and dance and be a little merry, and maybe you should too," Harry added. "But tomorrow it's still going to feel this way and we're going to have to do something about that."

Draco nodded.

"Come," Harry said. "Ginny will polish off the firewhiskey if we don't get there soon."

/ / / / / / / /

They drank and cheered. They danced and sang. Hermione seemed full of light.

One by one, they started off to bed, first Arthur and Molly, then Ron who'd decided to crash on the couch. Ginny clinked glasses with Malfoy for one last shot before leaving, waving her wand to turn off the music as she left.

Harry and Hermione sat on the porch swing, covered by a blanket and holding hands underneath it. Hermione whispered constellations into Harry's ear, every so often pointing at them. Draco noticed that Harry didn't look up at the stars even once, his eyes fixed on Hermione, on her smile, on her breath. He seemed to be memorizing her. After a year of dreamless sleep, he understood why that was important.

Harry kissed Hermione's cheek and Draco looked away, uncomfortable. He took out his Tamagotchi and pressed the button to feed it. He felt a little less alone, and the small contraption seemed happy to be fed.

"Malfoy! Come, come! Sit!" Hermione said, a little drunk. She made space for him but didn't offer the blanket. Draco pushed the toy keychain back in his pocket, as far down as he could. "Arthur said I can't go tomorrow, so you best not die."

"We'll manage, I'm sure," Draco drawled.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I changed my mind," she said, slowly. "I think I do like you two being friends."

"Joy," Draco replied.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You like me, Malfoy. You like that I'm smart and it hurts your brain that I'm also something you were taught to hate. But you'll manage, I'm sure."

Draco looked at her, confused. "Yeah, I guess I don't hate you."

"Good. Now go sleep so I can kiss the Boy Who Woke Up," she ordered.

She then buried her face in Harry's neck and Harry froze as she whispered something in his ear.

"Hermione," Harry stressed, trying not to laugh at whatever she had proposed. "Malfoy is…"

"Going to find himself a bed," Draco said and, fast as lightning, made his way into the house. "And pretend I don't know what you two are doing out here."

Harry nodded sheepishly.

Just before going upstairs, he could see through the window that Hermione and Harry were snogging like the end of the world was coming.

Draco wished, for the first time in a very long time, that the end of the world would not be coming anytime soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry set Hermione down to sleep on Ron's bed but didn't feel at all sleepy himself. He padded back down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He liked that, despite all the magical trappings of the house, and the fact that you had to light the stove with magic, the kettle was still an ordinary metal covered with turquoise enamel. It had a whistle.

Harry closed his eyes and listened to the water slowly start to boil, the rolling of the water feeding into steam until finally, the kettle whistled.

Sometimes he felt just like the damn kettle.

He let it whistle for a minute. As soon as he took it off, the whistle was replaced with the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It was Draco.

"Can't sleep," Draco said. He was fiddling with something in his pocket.

"Tea?" Harry offered.

Draco nodded, sitting at the kitchen table. Ron was snoring softly on the couch, Harry indicated, holding a finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion.

Harry slid a cup of tea towards Draco. The cup was scalding hot, but Draco didn't seem to mind. Temperature, like many other things, now seemed inessential and inconsequential. Draco almost preferred the feeling of his skin being almost burned.

"Does it hurt?" Draco pointed to Harry's scar, or where the scar should be under his unkempt hair. Harry touched his scar instinctively, his fingers warm from holding his cup.

"It did when Voldemort was around. It's stung a few times since I woke," Harry explained, his voice hardly above a whisper. He motioned to Draco's arm, as always, covered, this time by Percy's jumper. "Does yours?"

Draco looked down at his arm, and dragged the sleeve of his jumper down to his wrist. "Sometimes," Draco admitted. Draco knew that Harry had seen it, had known. Still, it was hard to admit to being that level of stupid.

"You could probably get it removed," Harry suggested.

"Would you get your scar removed?" Draco asked. "Would Granger remove hers?"

Harry had wondered if Draco knew, about Bellatrix's handywork. About the marks of cruelty. He did.

Harry looked out the window for a bit, thinking. "No, I guess not."

"Can't erase the past, Potter," Draco said, in what he thought was a very wise tone of voice.

Harry laughed.

"What's so funny?"

Harry shrugged and took another sip of his tea. "You're such a tosser, Malfoy."

"Don't be crass, Potter," Draco countered, but cracked a smile as well. "The Boy Who Woke Up. The state of journalism in the wizarding world is appaling."

"And that's The Daily Prophet," Harry agreed. "I shudder to think what Luna's father wrote in the Quibbler."

Ginny's soft footsteps made their way downstairs and caught Harry and Draco laughing.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Midnight Madness Club," Malfoy said, dryly. "The more, the crazier."

Harry smiled. "Tea?"

"I'll get it," Ginny said, summoning a cup. She didn't sit, choosing instead to lean against the cabinets. "Hermione?"

"Sleeping," Harry replied.

"Sloshed," Draco chimed in.

"A bit," Harry conceded.

Ginny smiled. "She needed to let loose. She's been, like, a war nurse at your bedside… for a year. It must have been exhausting." She sighed. "I was not cut out for that."

Draco felt a pang of jealousy. That someone had been with Harry for a year, and he'd been alone.

"I didn't ask her to," Harry said, a bit defensive.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You never ask us to do anything. But when you mention something in passing, it becomes a General's order. You told Neville to hold the fort, and he became a warrior. You remember that book… that muggle book Hermione gave us once? The Last Unicorn."

Harry nodded.

"There was this line I always remember; it makes me think of you. It says 'I became a hero to serve you, and all that is like you. Also to find some way of starting a conversation'," Ginny said. "We all did what had to be done, because you did what had to be done." She gave Draco a quick glance. "You watch out, Malfoy. If you keep hanging around Harry Potter, you're bound to become a hero of some sort."

She took a long sip from her cup and disappeared back upstairs. Draco looked at Harry and saw that he was blushing profusely under his glasses.

"I sincerely doubt it," Draco said, to himself more than anyone else. But in his mind, it brewed and steeped. Could he become a hero? What did that even mean?

"You know what I'd really like?" Harry said, and Draco could sense a mounting anger in Harry's voice. "I'd like to not be responsible for more death and destruction." There was a rattle of the windows, and Draco wondered if it was the wind. The alternative, of course, was nothing he wanted to contemplate. Harry took a deep breath, as if realizing he was getting unnecessarily worked up. "I'd like to… I'd like to go to a beach sometime. You know, a sunny beach like on the telly."

"I don't know. I've never watched the telly. And the sun and I, we don't get along too well," Draco offered.

"Yeah, well, it looks fun. I want to do something so terribly human and cliché. Something absolutely normal. Like get coffee in a to-go cup. I'd also like a dog. A regular dog, a mutt, the runt of the litter. And a place with a yard or close to the park, so we can play fetch." Harry could almost picture it, this happiness of being anonymous. "He'd sleep on the sofa and I'd have to vacuum all the time because of the hair."

"What is vacuum?" Draco asked, seriously.

Harry laughed. "Right. Uhm… do a cleansing charm."

There was silence, and sipping of tea, and avoiding each other's eyes.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Draco asked, confused.

Harry shrugged. "I honestly don't know. But…" he paused.

"But what?" Draco asked.

"But it feels right, doesn't it?"

Draco felt his stomach do a summersault inside him, and decided he would leave it at that. He had never seen Harry Potter before, the way he was seeing him now. Bloody heroic Gryffindor. Superbly idiotic martyr. Absolutely bonkers human. Draco shook his head, as if this could ever clear the fog that was occupying his mind now. Maybe if he closed his eyes long enough, he'd forget the horrors, the crimes he'd committed, all that he'd done to rid the world of the same Harry Potter that had just made him tea.

"You should sleep," Harry suggested. "Big day tomorrow."

"So should you," Draco agreed. "Exactly the same size of day for you. Plus a hungover girlfriend."

Neither moved. They stayed and sipped tea for a long time.

/ / / / / / / /

"You look like five kinds of shite, warmed over," Ron said, placing a stack of pancakes in front of Harry.

"Good morning to you too," Harry said through yawns. He looked at himself in the reflection of the window and he did look peaky. "Didn't sleep much."

Draco, however, was put together and almost looked brand new as he bounded down the stairs. "Morning," he said, almost cheery.

Ron passed him a stack of pancakes as well, with a dull groan. Draco thanked him.

"You're… cheerful," Harry said with disdain.

"Slept well," Draco explained.

"You slept two hours. Less even." Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"It's our motto," Draco explained. "Slytherins: We'll sleep when we're dead."

Hermione could be heard dragging her feet down the stairs. When she got to the kitchen, she pulled her hair back, opened the faucet and drank straight from it.

Both Harry and Draco became entranced with watching her drink like a madwoman. The water dribbled down her chin and splashed onto her shirt. Her dark skin glistened under the drops of water and she soon became very aware that she was being stared at intently. Draco caught himself and tried to turn away, but was too late.

"Did you two lose something?" she asked as she turned off the faucet. She seemed unimpressed with the gawking. Harry was looking at her like she was breakfast, and doing a shit job of hiding it.

"Potter here lost his ability to speak," Draco said. Harry kicked him under the table, but blushed. "You apparently lost a few brain cells last night and any sort of shame about getting your shirt wet."

Hermione rolled her eyes and, as if to spite Draco, leaned in and kissed Harry full on the mouth. Harry forgot his self-consciousness for a moment and allowed the kiss to linger and deepen, until Ron felt it had been long enough and cleared his throat. Hermione pulled away almost reluctantly, and Harry was left with the impression that he was being used and that it was not altogether unpleasant.

"Good one on the brain cells," Hermione said to Draco, fake cheering with an imaginary glass. "You've been reading up on Muggle science?"

"So, 'Mione, pancakes?" Ron offered.

"Yes. And I'll put on some coffee. Tea won't do," she replied.

Harry licked his lower lip, savoring the kiss that had come and gone. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and Harry looked away, half blushing. Hermione sat next to Harry and smiled at them both. "What's up?" she said.

"Malfoy's cheerful," Ron added helpfully. "It's got us all right upset."

"Quite," Malfoy agreed.

Hermione grabbed a fork and reached across the table, taking a stab at Draco's pancakes.

"Hey!," he cried out. "Steal from your boyfriend why don't you? Or wait for your own."

Harry seemed to shake off the daze of the kiss only to laugh at Malfoy's surprise. "No one is safe from Hermione's roaming fork."

"What?" she asked, her mouth still a bit full. "It tastes better if it's on someone else's plate."

"Here," Ron said, adding one of Hermione's pancakes to Draco's plate. "For your trouble."

Hermione's bushy curls bounced as she laughed, and she seemed more relaxed than she had been the day before. She stabbed at Draco's pancakes again and he, in turn, stabbed at hers. It felt familiar, Draco thought, although pancakes were not really Malfoy Manor breakfast fare.

"So, what's the plan then?" Hermione asked, letting go of the fork feud for a few minutes to concentrate.

"Dad said we were to leave at ten. We'll floo into the shop, and you'll have to move underground after that," Ron said. "I'll go with you to the shop and make sure you leave the shop safely to come back here. But you're on your own in the sewers. Ollivander will be expecting you."

"Sewers," Draco repeated, disgust in his voice.

"Only way to travel," Ron added unhelpfully.

/ / / / / / /

Travelling by floo powder was something Draco found very much beneath him. But then again, he was wearing a knit jumper with the letter P and tight jeans with holes in the knees, so he didn't feel like he could really complain. Harry seemed to dislike the experience as well, but as he had no choice, kept quiet about it. Ron had led the way and was now busying himself with the things he needed to do before opening the shop.

"We've got a new shipment of Flying Fizzies coming in this morning, so that's exciting," he explained, as he showed them around the shop. They followed him down a set of stairs towards an underground cellar. Once there, he kicked a damp rug and revealed a trapdoor with a small round pull.

"Now Ollivander's is right down the street. All you have to do is go down, take a left a right and a left again and you'll be under his shop. Tap your wand twice on the trapdoor there, do the allohamora spell and you'll be golden," Ron explained. "Oh, and don't get turned around, or you'll end up under the loo of The Leaky Cauldron and then you'll have to find another way to The Burrow because I won't let you into the shop smelling of piss."

"Great advice, Weasley."

"Bite me, Malfoy."

Harry rolled his eyes and opened the trapdoor in one strong pull. The smell of stewed rat wafted up from the sewers.

"Once you're back here just tap the trapdoor, it'll open," Ron said.

Harry and Draco went down into the deep darkness.

/ / / / / /

"Lumos," Harry whispered, pointing his wand as he advanced in the sewer.

Draco stepped on something nasty but decided against revealing what it was in the light. Rather not know, he thought. "This is not my preferred way to travel."

Harry shook his head, trying to keep his footing and take the correct turn. "Do be quiet."

"Really, what is the point of being the hero of the wizarding world if you have to sneak through sewers," Malfoy muttered.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry protested.

Malfoy smiled. "That sounds more like it."

"Your other left, Malfoy."

They finally arrived at the trapdoor beneath Ollivander's and Harry did as Ron had instructed.

Nothing.

"Maybe he died," Draco contributed. Even in the darkness he knew Harry was glaring. "I'll try."

He pointed his wand and once again said, "Allohamora."

Nothing.

"Well, this is fun," Draco mused.

They heard shuffling from above the trapdoor and the sound of a thud and something being dragged. And then the trapdoor opened. Ollivander's old wrinkled face peered through the trapdoor. "I'd forgotten all about you two," he said, his smile wide.

/ / / / / / / /

The shop was definitely dirtier than Harry remembered, and Ollivander seemed to have aged to match the shop. Everything had a thick layer of dust, even the old wizard's coat.

Ollivander guided them round to the counter and he took his place behind it, as if everything was par for the course. Draco glanced towards the door that faced the street, worried.

"I put up the closed sign, you see." Ollivander's voice trembled. "Made sense after talking to Arthur Weasley."

Harry took out his wand from his back pocket and motioned for Malfoy to do the same. "We have some questions, Mr. Ollivander. About our wands."

They both placed their wands on the counter.

Ollivander took Harry's into his hands first, twisted it next to his ear. Then he took Draco's and did the same.

"Odd," he said. He picked up both wands again, one in each hand and seemed to weigh them against each other.

"What's odd?" Draco asked, growing impatient.

Ollivander held up his hand, as if he needed more time to analyze. In silence he took each next to his ear once more.

And then, holding both wands in his hands, he snapped them.

Harry and Draco stared, mouths agape, at what had been their wands not two seconds prior.

"Bloody son of a manticore," Draco muttered in shock.

Harry reached for the pieces of his wand but Ollivander pulled them away. "Are you mad?"

Ollivander didn't seem at all conflicted by their reaction. He placed both broken wands on the counter and whispered, "Incendio".

And their wands went up in flames.

"Merlin," Draco swore under his breath, grabbing hold of his forehead.

"This was your idea, mate," Harry muttered.

"How was I to know he'd gone mental?"

Ollivander cleared his throat and smiled. "Now that is much, much better," he said, clearly satisfied.

Both Harry and Draco had no words.

"Oh, don't worry. Young Mr. Potter, Young Mr. Malfoy, those wands just wouldn't do anymore."

Harry thought it best to take a measured approach. "Mr. Ollivander, sir, if you would excuse my asking, but…"

"What the actual fuck?" Malfoy completed, taking the words right out of Harry's mouth.

Ollivander looked at them curiously. "Well, you could not keep using those wands, they were… inadequate."

"We've had those wands for seven - no, eight years," Draco said. "The wand chooses the wizard and all that nonsense."

"Indeed, Mister Malfoy. That's it exactly." Ollivander practically did a little dance, feeling understood. "Those wands no longer chose you. Either of you. Those wands were confused."

Harry was getting a distinctive pain in his forehead and it wasn't his scar. It was his head, about to implode, out of the sheer incredulity. "Did Mr. Weasley explain why we wanted to see you?"

"Oh, yes. He said that you'd both woken up after being rendered unconscious for almost a year. I do read the papers, you know. I knew you'd both been lost." Ollivander scanned the area under the counter as if he'd lost something. "And that you seemed to think it may have been related to those wands. I assure you the wands were not responsible for what happened to you. But they were… shall we say… they also slept. And in that sleep, the wands became… unfit."

"So you made a bonfire out of our wands because they were underused for a year?" Malfoy was bordering on yelling and Harry took a hold of his elbow as a way to keep him grounded. Draco was unsure of what to make of that.

Ollivander peered at Draco over his glasses, as if he was wondering how to know some sense into him. "Dangerously underused, Mr. Malfoy. The wands had no allegiance. They had become treacherous wands." He paused for a moment and looked back at the wall filled with boxes of wands. His fingers seemed to scan the shelves, but he shook his head. "Wait here," he said, ducking into the back room.

"Sure, why the hell not," Draco muttered.

Harry still couldn't process what had happened. He touched the remnants of his wand, a single phoenix feather, untouched by the fire.

Ollivander returned with two boxes, identical. "This should do."

He opened both boxes and handed a wand to Draco and another to Harry.

"Maple and thunderbird tail feather," he told Harry.

To Draco he said, "Rowan and thunderbird tail feather."

And then, smugly, "The same thunderbird."

Simultaneously, the wands lit up the room.

"See?" Ollivander said. "The wands know."

Both Harry and Draco felt the breeze and the light that came from having the perfect wand in their hands, but this did nothing to assuage the feeling that there was something being omitted. Harry had long felt that Ollivander was keen on intrigue and did not usually give a straight answer.

"Mr. Ollivander," Harry started. "I've had a wand with a twin before. It did not really…work out too well, as you'll recall."

"Mr. Potter, I do not pretend to understand why these wands have chosen you. But I wish to believe that the wands know best," Ollivander mused. "You may try out every other wand in this shop and find none that suit you. If you had come tomorrow instead of today, maybe another wand would have chosen you. But today, these are your wands." He smiled. "That will be 7 galleons each."

Harry and Draco exchanged a look of defeat. Finally, Draco spoke, shame coloring his cheeks a bright pink. "Can you cover me?" he asked Harry. "As it stands, I'm wearing Hermione's father's old pants and don't have a knut to my name."

Harry looked down at his empty pockets and sighed. "Say, Mr. Ollivander, sir, seeing as we weren't really expecting a conflagration of wands to be on the schedule for this morning, would it be alright if we sent you payment with Ron Weasley tomorrow?"

/ / / / / / / / /

Hermione had busied herself with what she thought were quite important tasks. Personal accounting – as it stood, her money bag had still about 30 galleons, give or take, and some change. She had about three thousand pounds in a savings account she'd opened with her mother a few years before. So that was alright, since tuition for Hogwarts was paid for. Check.

She pulled out a small notebook and a pen. Quills and parchment were fine for school, but sometimes a compact notebook was much better. She wrote down her savings, just so she could keep track. Then she turned to the back of the notebook, to a section she'd titled "Stupid Plans".

She got herself started on a list of steps in case they needed to execute Draco and Harry's incredibly stupid plan, but she couldn't quite get past the title. She felt silly writing down "Step 1: break into Azkaban."

"Wotcher," Ginny said, sliding into the chair across from Hermione. "Any news?"

"None." Hermione spread her fingers as if showing that she wasn't hiding anything or anyone between them.

"So." Ginny leaned in closer. "You and Harry."

"Wonder what time it is," Hermione said, trying to avoid having the conversation.

"Come on, spill," Ginny insisted.

Hermione sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Oh, no details at all. Just wanted official confirmation," Ginny replied. "For the papers. Boy Who Wakes gets the girl. Not that girl, the other girl."

"That seems like it wouldn't sell too well," Hermione offered. "Are you upset?"

"Not really," Ginny admitted. "I mean, I thought he'd gone beyond the veil. Stepped into the darkness. Kicked the proverbial bucket. Gone to visit Fred."

Hermione had to admire Ginny's way of talking through touchy subjects with a steamroller. "Go on."

"Well, it got me thinking about how short life is and how much we waste it doing things that are expected of us, and not necessarily what we want. We do the things we think we're supposed to want or supposed to like. And we talk ourselves into loving who we think we should love because everyone says so, when maybe we know that's not what we want." She looked over at Hermione's notebook and smiled at the title of stupid plans. "I just started to think that I only wanted to be Harry Potter's girlfriend because I'd get to be Harry Potter's girlfriend. And I love him, and always will, but just not… like that."

Hermione wrapped her hands in her jumper, for lack of anything better to do.

Ginny continued. "You don't know because you didn't grow up like we did… with this ideal of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, capitalized and lighting up the sky. You read about him in a book the summer before Hogwarts but you weren't impressed by what he represented. I was… in awe of him, ever since I saw him, because of everything he meant to the world. And it was hard to separate that from everything else."

"What's 'everything else'?" Hermione asked.

"Where do I start? That he was in love with you for years but didn't know how to go about it? That he also felt this obligation to like me back? That I really like girls?" Ginny smiled, relieved to say things out loud for the first time. "I shudder to think that if everything had just gone on, if he'd never gone into the long sleep, maybe we'd marry and have kids and you and Ron would marry and have kids and we'd all be miserable forever."

Hermione shuddered as well. "We'd do Christmas together and be so bored."

Ginny nodded like mad. "And we'd take our kids to school and we'd probably drink heavily."

"Ugh, it would've been an absolute nightmare." Hermione laughed. "So really, this whole year of uncertainty, it saved us from a life of suburban misery."

"Yes, definitely," Ginny agreed, but then thought back a second. "What's suburban?"

And Hermione just laughed and laughed.

/ / / / / /

Down the trapdoor and through the sewers again and then up the trapdoor at the joke shop and then…

"He did what?" Ron asked, handing Harry a butterbeer.

Draco still looked a bit peaky from the shock. "Burned. Nothing but ash."

"And this phoenix feather," Harry showed Ron the unburnt feather, drawing it momentarily from his pocket. "That reminds me, we owe Ollivander fourteen galleons, I'll give you the money tonight so you can pay him tomorrow, if that's ok," Harry said.

"I am destitute," Draco explained, with an air of drama."

"And I wasn't expecting to need my moneybag because I wasn't expecting him to burn down my wand," Harry concurred. He took a long gulp of his butterbeer and offered Malfoy some. Draco declined.

"He has an acute business sense, the old man," Draco contributed. "Wands are for life, oh, no, wait, let me burn these, now you owe me money for new ones."

Draco was evidently rattled. Harry felt a kinship. Burned-wand-kinship.

"You should floo back," Ron said. "Better not stay here long, someone might walk in and recognize you."

Harry nodded, but that was now the least of his worries. As he stepped into the fireplace all he felt was defeat. They had no answers. Sure, they had new wands, but absolutely no answers, and a load of new questions.

"The Burrow," he said, and disappeared.

/ / / / / / / / /

Hermione heard them before she saw them. Harry had apparently not walked out of the chimney fast enough, or Draco had been too fast. In any case, it was to be expected that – magic or no magic - they could not occupy the same space at the same time. So it was only logical that Draco flooing into the fireplace that still had Harry in it would cause a commotion.

She found them tangled on the floor, covered in soot, and coughing madly.

"Gerroff me, Malfoy," Harry said, quite annoyed at being face down on the ground.

"I'm trying." Draco was having a tough time disentangling.

Hermione walked over and offered Draco a hand, then Harry. Draco patted his clothes down, trying to get the soot off them. He was mildly successful.

"So," Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Any luck?"

Harry and Draco exchanged concerned glances.

"Well…" Harry started.

/ / / / / / / /

"Thunderbird?" Hermione asked, completely aghast. "That's a very unstable core, makes for very temperamental wands." She was almost angry. "They even cast curses on their own sometimes."

Harry looked down at his wand curiously.

"No. Don't think about trying that right now," Hermione admonished. "Ollivander has a very strange sense of humor. Sometimes I wonder if he's some sort of master puppeteer just deciding the fates of the Wizarding World, one bloody wand at a time."

"He's a very odd little old man," Draco agreed.

Hermione placed a hand on her temple, thinking. "Why would he think your old wands were now dangerous to you? Why would he give you new wands?" She snapped up at them. "I loathe events that make no sense. Questions that beget questions."

Harry looked at her, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry?"

Hermione waved a hand in forgiveness. "We should think about what to do next. And don't say what you're going to say, because I don't want to hear it. That plan is stupid and I refuse to listen."

Draco stuck his hand in his pocket and fiddled with the Tamagotchi for a few moments. "Whatever else we do, we should definitely find somewhere else to stay," he offered. "We've been here long enough, and it's a matter of time before someone hears about St. Mungo's and figures this is a good place to look."

Hermione nodded. "We're a liability to Arthur's work at the Ministry. And McGonagall is bound to owl Molly any moment now. She'll know by now that Draco is awake." She closed her eyes for a second. "I really don't want to get expelled."

"There's one more week of break, yes?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, eyes still closed, head still in her hands, worry still drawn across her face.

Harry looked at Draco. "We give this a week. If we don't get answers within that time, we let it go. We go to McGonagall or to the Ministry, let them know we're alright, that we're back, and figure out what to do with the rest of our lives."

"Let it go," Draco said softly.

"You don't have to do that," Hermione whispered. "I'm being silly and you can keep on looking without me."

"No," Harry stated, firmly. "At some point, the search has to be over and our lives have to start. A week." He placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and she felt calm irradiate from his warm touch. "One week."

Draco nodded. "One week. I can do that."

Hermione smiled up at Harry, then Draco. "Pack your things," she said. "I'll check the car for hidden garden gnomes."

/ / / / / / /

They waited until Ron had gotten back from work before taking their leave. Harry had pressed some money into Ron's hand, for the wands, and then hugged him tightly. Ginny had hugged them all, even Draco, all at the same time, a massively joyous hug, wishing them luck and ordering them not to die.

Draco got a stiff handshake from Ron, a motherly hug from Molly, and a kind pat on the shoulder from Arthur. A feeling of guilt washed over him, from all the times he'd been completely awful about the Weasleys. The warmth that The Burrow exuded, the way every inch of the place was filled with love, how could you not be soft growing up like that?

He wished he'd grown up soft, surrounded by love of this magnitude. Not that he'd ever tell anyone that, especially not a Weasley.

He fed the Tamagotchi, leaning against the car as Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes, letting them have a moment of privacy among friends.

And then they piled into the car and took off, the dark night spreading before them.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Hermione hummed while driving, which Harry found endearing but Draco found unnerving.

"Are we there yet?" Draco asked, impatient.

"What are you, five?" Hermione countered. She sighed, trying to get some patience back from wherever she had dropped it. "I think we have a couple more hours to go."

"And you're good to drive?" Harry checked. Hermione nodded.

The roads were dark and Hermione hadn't really told them where they were going. She was getting a bit tired but didn't want to just stop in the middle of the road.

"I don't have any money," Draco said, out of nowhere. It had apparently been on his mind since they hadn't been able to pay Ollivander, and it seemed to be a heavy concern.

"That's ok," Hermione answered absentminded. "Harry and I have enough, I think. Depends on what we're doing, we could have some more wired from Harry's Gringotts vault, I guess. The Goblins are getting into a sort of phone banking thing. It just requires strong owls."

"The Goblins aren't very fond of me," Harry pointed out. "I like this phone banking idea."

"You don't understand," Draco said, his voice low. "I've never not had money. I never had to ask anyone for anything because… well, everything was just always there. And I don't have clothes of my own, or anything except this wand that is technically Potter's since he paid for it, and I'm wearing weird shoes."

"Trainers," Harry pointed out. "Those are actually pretty solid trainers."

"And I'm wearing a Weasley jumper and a Crash shirt and I smell."

Harry marveled at Draco's breakdown. Hermione just said, "The Clash."

"Fucking centaur balls," Draco muttered.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, confused.

"I don't know," Draco said, defeated. "A shower."

"We'll be there soon," Hermione said. "Soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Chapter 7, I'll be posting weekly updates. Let me know if you are enjoying it, hopefully you will!


	8. Chapter 8

It was almost midnight when they arrived at a small village on the outskirts of London, tired and hungry. Hermione drove even slower now, until she found a tiny cottage that looked like it belonged in a book of fairy tales.

In the story, it would be the witch’s lair. It was small and rundown, the ceiling seemed to leak even when seen from the outside, even though it was not raining all that hard. Hermione parked the car off to the side and led them down the stone pathway to the door. She raised herself up on the tips of her toes and reached her arm over the door, removing a set of keys. They let themselves in.

The inside was dusty and stale, but warmer than the outside. Hermione whispered “Lumos” and the entire house lit up. She swung her wand to and fro, bringing forth cleaning charms and warming charms, making the space entirely more habitable in the span of five minutes. 

“Is this…” Harry asked. He had never seen Hermione’s house but this was not how he’d imagined it. 

She shook her head. “My grandfather used to live here. I… kept it, when I…” She looked away. She didn’t go into it any further and Harry didn’t press. 

She walked up to the kitchen and lay down her bag on the counter. She started pulling food out of the bag, bread and cheese, eggs and milk and juice. “Molly,” she explained. Cookies and carrot cake. 

They ate in silence. They knew Hermione had a plan: she always had a plan, so she must have a plan. But right now, they were hungry and knackered and couldn’t string together coherent sentences. 

“There’s a bed and a sofa,” she said. 

“I’ll take the sofa,” Draco said quickly, before more awkward sleeping arrangements could be made. 

Hermione nodded. She pulled more clothes from her bag, something for Draco, something for Harry. She told them to shower and change and bring her the dirty clothes. Harry went first, quickly, and let Draco take the second turn so he could take longer. After Draco’s breakdown in the car, Harry figured he needed it. 

Harry took a pile with his clothes and the ones Draco had handed him from the bathroom door and took them down to Hermione. She’d started the wash. She went through the pockets and pushed the clothes into the old machine. On one pocket, she found something… odd.

“Is this yours?” she asked Harry, showing her a small keychain Tamagotchi. 

Harry shook his head. “I’ve seen one of those before… Dudley had them when we were…”

Draco ran down from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. “That’s mine,” he said, alarmed.

Hermione was too shocked to protest and handed him the small toy without any sort of comment. His skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent, but she could make out the Dark Mark in his arm, a grayish tattoo covered in scratches and healed scars. He understood now what Draco had said: It was literally not possible for Malfoy to erase the past. He had evidently tried and failed, and his arm was scarred for it.

“Right. Sorry,” Draco said, walking back up to finish his evidently unfinished shower. 

“That was weird,” Hermione whispered. 

Harry shrugged. “Malfoy is weird.”

Hermione nodded.

“Go sleep,” she ordered as she finished loading the washer. “I’ll shower after Malfoy’s done and magic those dry in the morning.”

She set about to making the couch, conjuring up sheets and covers from the shelves. Harry wanted to help but knew he was only in the way. He went up to the bedroom and lay down on the bed, the sound of the shower turning off, Draco’s footsteps trodding down the stairs, then Hermione’s footsteps going up, then the shower on again. He drifted in and out of sleep with the noises, until at last he woke with the rustling of sheets and Hermione’s closeness on the bed. 

“You smell clean.” Harry’s whispers stuck to his throat; his voice heavy with sleep. He’d left his glasses on and Hermione took them off and placed them on a small bedside table. 

“Nox,” she whispered, and all the house went dark. “I’m knackered.”

She snuggled in close to him and, almost without thinking, Harry hazily leaned in to kiss her goodnight. 

The kiss existed in a state between sleep and wakefulness, almost like a gauzy dream. It became more urgent, but languorous, as if they had all the time in the world. Suddenly, Harry was aware that Hermione had moved closer and then she was on top of him, her length over his, and he opened his eyes a bit. Her weight was perfect, the way her legs had found a balance around his. His hands didn’t know where to go, but lack of knowledge was replaced by instinct. 

His hands on her hips, on her back, in her hair. His mouth dragging down her jawline, leisurely down her neck, his lips soft and warm below her earlobe. Everything in a strange slow motion of exhaustion. She mmmmmd softly, almost like a purring cat, and buried her face in his neck. And then, in a stroke of genius, she kissed his collarbone and so gentle on his Adam’s apple, his chin, his mouth again and then he knew, he knew that this was why he’d come back. How could he ever die when this was even a remote possibility?

His hands explored her back, her full hips, and he felt his bony hands were made for her softness. His fingers found a space between her shirt and skin, right above her hips, and she shivered. She was out of breath when she spoke, and only then was this dreamlike state broken. 

“We should stop,” she whispered, but he kept kissing her and she kept kissing back, the feeling of fullness was calling them with a pull stronger than the sleepiness they felt. Their open mouths, warm and ready. Their tongues soft and ready. Everything so ready. 

“I don’t want to,” Harry said, his mouth capturing hers in a way he hadn’t tried before, all bite and no bark. 

She mmmmd again and he sighed out. “Don’t want to either,” she said, but she shook her head. “But better do.”

She dropped back down to her side of the bed and they both stared at the ceiling for a long time, deep breaths deep breaths deep breaths.

“Sorry,” Harry said. 

“What for?” Hermione asked, a soft laugh catching on her lips. She was winded and Harry felt almost proud. 

Still he blushed. “Not really sure,” he said, smiling at her.

Hermione took his hand. “We should sleep.”

“Come here,” he said, stretching his arm to make room for her on his chest. 

“That’s what got us in trouble in the first place.”

“I’ll stay real still.” Harry held up his hand. “Wizard’s Honor.”

“Ok.” 

She rested her cheek over his heart and softly drifted off to sleep in the warmth they had both created.

// / / / / 

Hermione slept restless, moving quite a bit, so that her night-shirt rode up her thighs. 

It was the movement that woke Harry up, but it was the sight of Hermione that kept him awake. 

He was sure he’d been having a tense dream but he couldn’t keep a hold of it, and by the time he woke, as Hermione turned again and exposed more of her leg, the dream was gone.

He moved out of the bed slowly, so as not to wake her, took his glasses and padded down the stairs with bare feet. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. On his way back, he noticed the soft light coming from the living room, from Draco’s hands. The Tamagotchi.

“Can’t sleep?” Harry asked. 

Draco looked up but made no move to hide the toy. “Slept some. Then, not.”

“Same.” Harry took long gulps of water. Draco thought he sounded quite like a drowning flubberworm. He would know. 

Harry sat on the smaller settee and brought his knees up to his chest. “Have you had nightmares?”

“Define ‘nightmares’.” Draco did not look up from his toy, and kept pushing buttons instead. 

“Giant snake tries to eat my heart from a pedestal,” Harry said, almost nonchalant.

“It breaks the glass case to get to it,” Draco finished for him. “Sometimes I wake up right as the hole in my chest opens up. Sometimes after, when a blue light has filled the space.”

“I had the same one. Only the light at the end is your Patronus.”

Draco looked up to Harry. “I wake up before it takes any form.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Harry didn’t want to talk about the nightmare anymore. “What’s that about?” Harry asked, motioning to the pocket where Draco had hidden the toy.

“Tamagetsit. Arthur Weasley gave it to me.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I did not steal it.”

“It’s Tamagotchi.”

“That’s what I said.”

Harry allowed the silence to linger. 

Draco turned to face Harry, curious. “What’s Granger’s plan?”

Harry shrugged. “She said she’d tell us in the morning.”

“You are too trusting.” Draco made it sound obscene.

“You are too cynical,” Harry countered.

“It’s kept me alive thus far.”

“That’s debatable.”

Harry held his legs to his chest, tighter. It had suddenly felt very cold, not the empty cold of Dementors, but the full breeze of the countryside. Draco felt the same chill. “You should sleep, Potter. Granger will try to have us up at the crack of dawn.”

“You know her well,” Harry said, yawning halfway through. He rose to take the stairs.

“Her reputation precedes her.” Draco pocketed the Tamagotchi and closed his eyes.

/ / / / / / / 

Hermione woke before the sun was up. Harry had one arm around her, as if he’d tried to wrangle her during the night and barely succeeded. He didn’t really wake as she got up; he mumbled something incoherent that was either her name or some very inventive swear, then kept on sleeping. 

Downstairs, she found Draco dressed and drying the rest of the clothes, using his new wand as if it was part of him. 

“I can’t cook or anything, so I thought,” he said, letting the idea trail off and pointing at the clothes.

“I’ll make us something,” Hermione answered. She put the kettle on, set three places on the countertop, and got started on eggs and toast. 

“So where are we going?” Draco had finished with the clothes and was meticulously setting the cutlery on the place mats, arranging everything to be more symmetric. 

“We’re going to Edinburgh. By train,” Hermione explained. “Muggle train.”

“Why?”

“Because neither you nor Harry can drive and I’m not driving all the way up there on my own, I’ll get us killed.” She looked upwards, as if fetching her next sentence out of thin air. “I’m not a very good driver.”

“Why Edinburgh, I meant.”

“Oh.” Hermione drew an invisible map with her fingers, right on the counter. “Azkaban is unplottable. But we know it’s in the North Sea. We know the Minister of Magic has gone there, so there must be a way to get there through standard channels, Ministry channels. The Ministry has various offices in Edinburgh. So I’m thinking it’s the closest spot from which we could leave, through Portkey or Apparating or floo. It’s a guess…” 

“But it’s a good guess,” Draco admitted. 

“Also, you were right, we’ll need help, and I know… well, there’s a couple of people… trustworthy people. I sent messages and maybe we’ll get lucky and they can meet us there.” Hermione drew imaginary circles around imaginary Edinburgh. 

“A flock of Gryffindors.” Malfoy seemed less annoyed by the prospect than he should be.

“A pride of Gryffindors,” Harry corrected, sleepily walking down the steps. “Like lions.”

Harry yawned, his arms raised, his hair stuck to his forehead at odd angles. Seeing Potter in a beard was odd, Malfoy thought, like getting a glimpse into the future. He wondered if a beard would do him the same favors, but doubted it, and let the thought go.

“An overabundance of Gryffindors, in any case,” Draco said. He focused on the plate of eggs and toast that Hermione materialized in front of him. 

Harry lazily kissed Hermione on the forehead while she motioned for him to sit and eat. She beamed at Harry as he ate, and she laughed, all teeth, at the sight of his hair stuck to his forehead.

Draco tried to imagine what that would feel like, to have someone worry about him like that. 

“You should eat,” Hermione told Draco, a half-smile accompanying the words. “It’s not so bad.”

“It’s great,” Harry said.

“You’re the worst judge, you like everything. All food is good, all sweets are brilliant, everything tastes great,” Hermione complained, half-joking.

“It’s good, thanks,” Draco said, trying to blend into the softness that were his travel companions. 

Harry washed dishes by hand after the meal, Hermione tidied up, then used her mobile and called the train station and got them three tickets. How she’d managed that was beyond Draco. After all this was over, would he have to become fluent in Muggle? Would he go back to the Manor, to his mother, or would he have to find his way in the world alone, a world of phone calls and microwaves? Should he ask Hermione to teach him how to navigate mobiles and train tickets?

/ / / / / / / / / 

They set off in the car a little after nine and were at the station an hour later. Hermione parked the car and then, a disillusionment charm and a reducto spell later, the car was inside her bag and they were walking hurriedly to their platform. 

“I need you to be cool,” Hermione told Draco in a low hiss, her hand clutching her impossibly light bag.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

“It means, try to blend in,” Harry explained. Draco nodded. He looked around at the people walking up and down the platforms. They hurried, they talked, they carried papers, some had those music playing things put over their ears. Some had books, others coffee. Some smiled, some seemed angry. Who was he supposed to imitate?

“Just follow us,” Harry explained unhelpfully. Harry and Hermione found their car and their reserved seats, and Draco tagged along behind them, feeling like a small child.

He sat across from Hermione and Harry and stared at the empty seat beside them. “What if someone sits here?” Draco asked.

The train was almost empty and it was a late morning train on a weekday. “It’ll be fine,” Hermione answered. 

The train lunged forward and then picked up speed. Draco placed his hand in his pocket and touched the keychain for luck.

/ / / / / / / / / 

At some point during their travel, Harry had fallen asleep against the window, his head bobbing against the shatterproof glass. 

Draco looked at him sleep, then looked at Hermione watching Harry sleep.

“What is it?” Draco asked, finally.

“What is what?” Hermione looked embarrassed to be caught staring at a sleeping Harry, and tried to pass off her head-jerk as completely natural behavior.

“What makes everyone just drop everything, just stop their lives and follow Potter on whatever half-assed plan he’s cooked up?”

Hermione frowned. “Well, on the one hand, the half-assed plan was originally yours. I’m making sure it’s a nice, well rounded ass of a plan so that you both don’t get murdered or kissed by dementors.” She thought for a second. “He dives wand-first into any situation, he doesn’t care about risking his life to get answers or to save someone’s life. Being around him, you learn to rise to the occasion.”

Draco laughed to himself. “You’re such bloody Gryffindors.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m banking on you being a cunning enough Slytherin for this plan to work, so, you know, balance.” She rummaged into her bag and pulled out a bar of chocolate. She broke off a piece and handed it to Draco. “You probably won’t get this because you grew up magical but, for me, for us… magic is a restoring of balance. When we were kids, we’d do weird things, special things, and nobody in our lives could understand why. And then this owl drops off a letter from Hogwarts and you learn to channel that energy and everything that was lopsided becomes perfectly balanced again.” 

Draco gave her a confused glance.

Hermione continued. “Harry has spent the best part of eight years trying to restore balance to our world, your world. And he’s still trying. I can only hope to be half as successful as he has.”

“What about Weasley?” Draco insisted. It was as if he couldn’t help himself poking his fingers into gashes and bleeding wounds. He was an expert at emotional knife-twisting.

“What about him?” Hermione asked.

“Why did you leave him for Potter?” 

“It wasn’t… it didn’t happen like that.” Hermione’s brown cheeks turned beet-red.

“How was it, then?” Draco insisted. Knife a little deeper.

Hermione pursed her lips. She knew that she didn’t have to answer, didn’t need to answer. But all the same, she wanted to. “Why aren’t you at home in the Manor, counting your galleons, living the highlife? Why are you here, on a train, alone and wearing hand-me-downs?” She gave him a smile tinged with sadness. “Because you rise to the occasion. Fuck the comfort zone, Draco. Fuck it straight to hell.”

This was the first time she’d called him by his name, just his name. He looked down at his shoes, his jumper, the piece of chocolate that did not leapfrog of his hand. He touched his pocket, with the tiny toy pet. “Fuck the comfort zone,” he repeated, and smiled.

And Hermione smiled right back.

/ / / / / / / /

Harry woke with a start to find Draco staring at him and… poking him with his wand.

“You were snoring,” Draco drawled. 

Harry adjusted his glasses. “Put your wand away, mate.”

“Mate?” Draco questioned, but he put his wand away before Harry had a chance to answer.

Harry shook his head, shedding sleep like a wet dog getting dry. “Hermione?”

“Loo.”

Harry frowned. He looked around the carriage.

Draco always had a question at the tip of his tongue when he was alone with Potter. It made life a lot harder to always be on the verge of launching an interrogation. This time, Harry was preoccupied.

“How long’s Hermione been?” Harry asked. “Not too long?”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen?” Draco offered. “I wasn’t keeping count.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “We should find her,” Harry said, up like a bolt. “Now.”

Draco didn’t understand but followed Harry down the almost-empty car towards the bathrooms, Harry speeding up as they got closer. He seemed to sense danger approaching and Draco could see Harry taking out his wand and placing it at the ready, close, hand by his thigh. Draco decided to do the same. He was almost running by the time they got to the loo and were faced with a violent struggle. 

Hermione was kicking the living daylights out of a tall man. Physically beating the shit out of the man in the dark robes. 

She had a cut on her cheek that was bleeding profusely, tinting her jumper a bright red. Her dark skin glistened with the blood pouring from the gash. She gave the man a hard kick and her hair stuck to her face with effort. 

Draco pointed his wand at the man and Harry pulled Hermione off him. The man was unconscious. 

“His wand,” Hermione said, her voice shaking. “Take his wand.”

Draco found the man’s wand on the floor, took it. He pushed the man into the bathroom cubicle and said, “Incarcerous.” Ropes materialized from the sides of the toilet, tying the man down. Draco recognized him, had seen him before, but couldn’t remember his name. A Death Eater, then, an anonymous former servant of a Dark Lord. He wondered who the man served now. He shut the man into the loo and locked the door to the stall. 

Harry proceeded to check Hermione all over. “I’m fine,” she said, unconvincing. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Harry pointed out. He looked around and seeing no one, pointed his wand at the wound and whispered, “Episkey”. His eyes searched hers for answers. Are you really alright? Are you sure? Can I make it better? He pushed her hair out of the blood, his hands becoming a rust red.

“What the fuck, Granger?” Draco asked, as if that was a good enough question. Hermione welcomed the straightforward question that had straightforward answers, and focused on that. 

“I was coming out of the loo and he pointed his wand at me and he forced me up against the mirror. That’s where the cut…” Hermione wiped the blood off her face as much as she could, smudges on the palms of her hands, on the sleeve of her jumper. “I disarmed him and I tried to bind him but he kept avoiding me and he hit me and finally I just kicked him. Hard.”

It was only then that Hermione realized how much her arms and legs hurt, how sore she felt. Harry sat her down on one of the seats close by and kissed her forehead. “Had you seen him before? Do you know who he is?”

“Death Eater. Can’t remember his name,” Draco volunteered. “A friend of dear old Dad.”

Hermione nodded quickly. “I saw his mark,” she said. “He knew who I was. Called me mudblood and all that.”

Harry kneeled down before her and kept looking her over, scanning for wounds and injuries, for something that he could make better. Something he could make whole again. 

“What do we do with him?” Draco asked. 

“Leave him to me,” Harry said, slow and deliberate, more fury in his eyes than Malfoy had ever seen. 

“No,” Hermione ordered, her hand clamping down on Harry’s arm. “We need to know why he was here. We need to know what he knows.”

Harry took a deep breath. “He hurt you.”

“I am fine.” Hermione ran her fingers through Harry’s hair and looked him straight in the eyes. “Keep your head.” She took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips, kissed it, a secret code, a soothing charm. Blood against blood. 

Harry nodded a bit embarrassed. “We can’t interrogate him here,” he said, surrendering. 

“Give me the invisibility cloak,” Draco ordered. “We’ll have to get off at the next station and find where to question him.”

“Next up’s Newcastle,” Hermione noted. It would still be quite a drive up to Edinburgh but it was the right course of action. Draco stunned the man, even though he was still out, and covered him with the Invisibility Cloak. Between him and Harry, they carried him back to their seats and waited for the train to come to a stop. 

Hermione had charmed away most stains, but her hands remained smudged and her neck felt dingy with dried blood, but she didn’t want to attract any more attention, didn’t have more time, didn’t want to split up again. Harry wanted so much to touch her, to soothe her, to tell her it was understandable if she wasn’t fine like she said she was. He wanted to apologize, to hold her.

The voice over the PA system called out the Newcastle station and they descended with their prisoner in tow. Hermione looked around the station. She was a skilled planner, but sometimes it took her a while to regroup. 

“There should be… we should…” She closed her eyes for a second. The scent of blood on her hands was still pungent and metallic in her nostrils. “The restrooms.”

They found the station bathrooms and walked in, Hermione ignoring the fact that they were in a men’s room. The stalls had thankfully been empty. Draco closed the door behind him and sat the man down on the ground. Harry removed the cloak and locked the door. 

“Stevens,” Draco said. “Or something like that. The name, I mean.”

Harry pointed his wand at Stevens-or-whatever-his-name-was and forcefully cast a reviving spell.

The word ‘Rennervate’ bounced around the loo. 

Stevens was, in essence, awake. He was bloodied and bruised and Hermione saw for the first time the damage she’d done. She was horrified and also quite proud of herself.

Stevens spat out, blood on the linoleum floor, and laughed at them unkindly. “Feckin’ kids,” he muttered. 

“Why were you following us?” Draco asked. 

Stevensd kept laughing, coughing, laughing. “Little Draco Malfoy. Didn’t you feel the call?”

Draco ignored that. Insisted. “Why were you following us?”

The man said nothing, just looked down at the floor.

Harry had half a mind to beat the answers out of the man. 

Draco had other ideas.

“Granger?” he said.

“Yes?” replied Hermione.

“I’m going to do something that lives on the frontier between immoral and illegal.” Draco smiled a cold smile, one that Hermione didn’t really want to dwell on. “Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

And with that, Draco pointed his wand and whispered, “Legillimens.”

The man slid up the wall as if he was being pulled there by invisible strings hanging from the roof. Draco was doing this with his wand. He flipped his hand around, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through Stevens’s body. Harry remembered being read by Snape before he’d learned Occlumency and knew how painful and effective it was. The man did not scream. The man did not plead. 

But Harry knew what was happening. 

Memories, like tendrils, spilling from Stevens’s mind into Draco’s. Memories he would never be able to give back. He was ripping the mind and taking out something precious and making it his own. 

After a few minutes Stevens’s body dropped to the ground. Draco kept his wand trained on him. “Obliviate,” he added, almost as an aside. “Stupefy.” 

Stevens stayed on the ground, the spells heavy on his chest, but he was breathing, Hermione could tell. 

The silence was oppressive as they waited for Draco to catch his own breath. 

“We should find somewhere… secure. Or get out of Newcastle. Now.” Draco’s eyes went from Hermione to Harry, then back to Hermione. “We’re not safe here.”

/ / / / / / / / / 

Draco hung back guarding the ladies’ as Hermione washed her hands and face and generally eliminated all traces of blood on her body and clothes. Harry had un-shrunk the car and was waiting there, all hand-wringing and nerves. Draco sighed. 

This was not how he’d thought it would go. This is not how he’d thought anything would go.

He hoped, asked Merlin, dreamt, pleaded that what Harry had predicted would come to pass; and that they would have nothing more to do than wait a week of being unsuccessful. And then they would find their ways back to a life, any life, that was not as dangerous.

Hermione stepped out of the ladies’ and stood beside Draco. Her face and hair dripped all over her jumper, her hands soaked. 

“You ok, Granger?”

Hermione nodded. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

Harry tossed her the keys and she caught them mid-air, with a tentative smile. 

Once inside the car, Hermione looked back at Draco before starting it. “Where to?”

“Wherever.”

“Is Edinburgh still safe? From what you saw?”

“From what I saw we’d be well advised to find brooms and fly to the Galapagos.” Draco shook his head. “So, anywhere will be the same amount of not-fine.”

“Edinburgh, then. At least we have a place to stay there.” Hermione looked to Draco through the rearview mirror, hoping. Draco nodded, indicating that would be fine. 

Right now, in his mind, anything except the world bursting into flames was fine.

Hermione started the car. Two hours and they’d be in Edinburgh. Harry placed a comforting hand on Hermione’s shoulder. He looked back to Draco and mouthed a silent thank you to Draco. 

Draco didn’t know what for. 

/ / / / / / / / / / / 

Edinburgh was the only Muggle city that appeared magical in its own right, Hermione thought. Harry, who had scarcely travelled at all, looked in awe at the buildings through the window. Draco seemed, as always, unimpressed.

Hermione held her wand up on her palm and asked it for directions. It responded promptly and led them down a few turns and alleys. Traffic moved slowly in Edinburgh, the streets too narrow, the people too distracted by their own lives to understand their urgency. Hermione felt like making all the cars in front of her disappear, making the world entire disappear so that they could just get somewhere with blankets and a hot shower. 

They pulled up to a street that was a dead-end, with three-story buildings that held high-ceiling flats, Draco could guess. 

Hermione parked the car in front of the building and once they were out, changed the color and reduced it. “It’s over there.” She pointed at the corner where nothing stood. She waved her wand and whispered a string of words that Harry did not recognize as a spell. He had to admit that Hermione was a far better witch than any of them. 

Behind a glimmer a small building appeared. They filed into the building after her. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

Hermione looked behind them, just to make sure. “This is the Order’s other safehouse. Professor McGonagall… she told me about the Scottish resistance, back when… it was being closely watched, during the war, but we should be safe now.”

“Should being the operative word,” Draco muttered. 

“Nothing is certain,” Hermione continued. She gave Draco a small smile. 

Draco nodded, smiling back. “Fuck the comfort zone.”

“Exactly.”

Harry uncomfortably pushed his glasses back onto his nose, and giving both of them a confused glance, kept silent. 

Hermione led them up the staircase to the flat, which she evidently had keys for in her ever-expanding bag. The door opened up to a relatively modern space, luminous, with large windows and high ceilings and sparse décor. “It beats 12 Grimmauld Place,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded. “I didn’t even know it existed.”

“You didn’t need to know.” Hermione dropped her bag on the coffee table and, without looking at Harry or Draco, went straight upstairs. “I need to shower. Then we can figure all this mess out.”

Harry watched her go. “Should I…” he started, looking to Draco for advice that he was unqualified to give.

“Well, mate,” he said, stressing the word unnecessarily. “I really wouldn’t know.”

Harry looked at Draco’s unhelpful face, and decided his instinct was better. He followed her up.

/ / / / / / / / / 

Hermione was crying.

Hermione was crying and she didn’t want to be. 

Hermione was crying and she didn’t want to be and Harry’s footsteps were coming up the stairs.

“Hey,” he said. He looked at her tears, then at the ground. They’d been foolish and stupid, to split up, to not think this was as dangerous as it was. He’d been foolish and stupid and allowed her to get hurt.

“Hey,” she said back. She could see the guilt in his eyes, but didn’t address it. They didn’t need the guilt. They’d already walked through so many battlefields, had already buried so many dead. There was no time for guilt.

They stared at each other for what seemed like a year, a year of sleeping alone, a year of not touching, a year of uncertainty.

“Come here,” Harry said, offering his open arms. Hermione walked into his welcoming embrace. “You are too brave and too smart and too strong for you own good,” he whispered.

“You should talk.” She blubbered and laughed at the same time and it was both unattractive and endearing and he wanted to kiss her, snot and all.

“You kicked that guy’s arse,” Harry pointed out.

“Too right,” she laughed.

Harry backed away. He held her face in his hands and again looked her over. “Are you ok? Really, this time.”

“I will be.” Hermione kissed him softly, a butterfly, a feather. “I’ll take a hot shower and I’ll be ready, and then Malfoy can tell us all about how we’ll get killed tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

/ / / / / / / / / 

Draco Malfoy was making tea.

Granted, he was putting on a kettle and the tea he found lying around the house was just old teabags. 

But he was doing something, which was better than nothing, which was better than sulking.

So he was making tea.

Potter was a mess of feelings and committed to bravery and foolish decision-making. 

So he was making tea.

Hermione was no longer bleeding but in a way she still was. A bleeding heart in any case.

So he was making tea.

It was earl grey: the teabags looked dusty but not moldy. The kettle whistled. He dropped teabags into cups, water after teabags. He let it steep.

He cut lemon wedges from Hermione’s purse, and set out a bowl with sugar, and spoons.

He presented the steaming cups to the bleeding heart and the brave fool and one for himself, the idiot blood-traitor at their service.

They sipped in silence, burning their tongues, scalding their throats.

“Stevens is working for my father,” Draco said. “Well, technically, was working for my father, since he’s just been made and obliviated, he’s bound to be out of a job now.”

“Your father.” Hermione let that sink in.

“He is apparently getting the band back together, so to speak,” Draco added.

“Why?” Harry asked. 

Always Potter with the dumb questions, Draco thought. “The Dark Lord Rises Again.”

“That’s impossible,” Hermione said. “We defeated him, Harry defeated him.”

“Well, I don’t know what iteration of him is still hanging around, or if this is one of those royalty-type scenarios, The-Dark-Lord-Is-Dead-Long-Live-The-Dark-Lord, but that’s what was in Stevens’s head. He rises again.”

Harry rubbed his scar a bit. “Do you think it’s just your father making trouble?”

Draco shrugged. “Could be. But you heard what Stevens said. He asked if I felt the call.”

“Did you?” Hermione asked. 

Harry gave her a warning glance. “I’ve felt my scar burn. But I didn’t think it meant…”

“The Mark hasn’t burned, not exactly. It’s like a faint itch I can’t really scratch. Like a worm beneath my skin.”

“How did they find us?” Harry asked.

“They had me tagged at St. Mungo’s. And then I think they picked us back up at Kings Cross, from what I could understand. He wasn’t much of a thinker.” 

“I should warn the Weasley’s,” Hermione noted on her mental list of Things To Do Before We’re Screwed.

Draco nodded, unamused. “When’s your help coming? And please tell me it isn’t just a couple of Weasleys.”

“Tomorrow morning.” She blushed. “Not just.”

Harry felt he was more a part of his tea than the conversation, but it felt good to not be completely in charge for once. He sipped. “Who’s coming?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager. He cleared his throat. “Neville?”

“Always expect Neville,” Draco contributed. 

Hermione sighed. “I’ll make us something to eat. You two should get started on research.” She tossed them a few books from her bag: heavy, dusty tomes, which Malfoy instinctively knew had been stolen from the Hogwarts’ Library. “Find the Azkaban weak-spot.”

/ / / / / / / / / / 

In the end they’d switched activities, seeing as Harry was a better cook and Hermione a more receptive mind when it came to books. 

Harry fried up sausages and eggs, made some old-ish rice from one of the cupboards. Found some juice in Hermione’s bag, and some chocolate. Hermione and Draco pored over books. 

He knew it was a respite, calm before the storm, but as he served up the plates and they ate, as Hermione read them obscure but tangentially relevant passages, Harry felt a sense of normalcy, of home. How many times had they done this before?

He missed Ron. 

He missed their innocence, before Sirius had died, before the war took to being loud, all-caps, death all around. When they were still kids. 

He thought about the life he’d told Malfoy he wanted. A dog, a park nearby. Cooking felt like it would fit into that life. 

“There has to be a point of limited apparition to Azkaban from within the city,” Hermione said, pointing a forked sausage at them. 

“If there is, it will probably be inside the Ministry offices,” Draco pointed out. “In fact, I’d bet top dollar that’s how they arranged the mass-escape last year. Infiltrate the ministry, then apparate into Azkaban, get everyone out.” Draco looked down at his plate. “This is actually not bad, Potter.”

Harry shrugged it off. “But even if we found where to Apparate from, getting to Lucius and past the Dementors will be tricky. The only way Sirius got out was by turning into a dog. And none of us are Animagi.”

“I have a few ideas,” Hermione said, taking her pen and notebook and opening it back up to the “Stupid Plans” section. “I need to think a bit more.”

“Finish eating first,” Harry scolded. 

Hermione took another forkful of rice but kept on scribbling. “I just want to have a clearer picture, for when the others come.” Harry stared her down but she ignored him. “I’m eating.”

/ / / / / / / 

The nightfall came late that evening, but Hermione did not seem to notice. Already bathed and changed, wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, she had sprawled her books on the bed and was taking copious notes.

Downstairs Harry did dishes while Draco showered. Then Harry showered while Draco read. 

By the time Harry was ready to crawl into bed, Hermione was mostly dozing with a copy of Wizarding Mega-Structures of Past and Present. 

He cleared all the books from the bed and covered Hermione with a blanket. He found his way into the bed and settled down beside her. 

In the moonlight he could see the bruising on her arms from the earlier fight. There was still the smallest line of a ghost scar on her cheek. The inside of her arm still had the scar that spelled ‘mudblood’. His hand still bore the scar that read, ‘I must not tell lies’. Harry thought about all the scars that remained on his friends’ bodies, the scar on Bill’s face, the scars on Draco’s arm. He felt the emptiness at the pit of his stomach. 

There were things he could not heal, the magical brands on their skin, but some things he could. 

He traced Hermione’s arm with the pads of his fingers, whispering ‘Episkey’ softly. His wand was at his side, but sometimes, some spells, didn’t need the direction of his wand. Some things he found he could do on his own. Like this.

He traced her arms and the bruising and swelling went down. The small whisper of a scar on her cheek disappeared. 

Hermione’s eyelids fluttered open. He continued past her forehead, taking away the beginnings of a migraine. Then down her other arm, making the bruises disappear, to the tips of her fingers, where he made nothing of a tiny paper cut. 

She smiled at him sleepily. “Harry the Healer,” she whispered.

“Hermione the Hero,” he whispered back.

She settled in the crook of his arm, cherishing the closeness. Tomorrow there would be more people to manage, more things to get done, less privacy, less space. 

Tonight there was the healing power of being together. 

Hermione pointed her wand at the ceiling. “Revelio Cielum.” She smiled at Harry. “I know everything is going to shit, but right now, this is nice.”

Harry kissed her forehead gently. “If we manage to survive, we should definitely do this again.” He leaned in to kiss her, lips meeting soft lips, slowly.

Of course, they would be interrupted by a knock. Of course. “Come in,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. 

“No need. Just wanted to let you know you also erased the ceiling of the first floor and I can see you being very affectionate and frankly do not care for it,” Draco called from outside the door. 

Hermione blushed and reversed the spell. “Sorry about that.”

“I just didn’t want to be blinded by nakedness,” Draco added.

“Did you want to come in?” Harry asked. Hermione slapped his chest. 

“Are you mad, Potter?” Hermione tried not to laugh at the clear discomfort Draco was experiencing. “Go back to your Gryffindor-snogs. Do some Muffliato Charms if you decide to, you know, polish your wand.”

“MALFOY!” Harry warned, blushing scarlet. “Don’t be crass.”

“Don’t make noise,” Draco said with a sing-song voice, running down the stairs. 

“I will kill him, and that way, we’ll get into Azkaban much quicker,” Harry muttered. 

Hermione giggled with mirth. She settled into Harry’s arms; whatever mood might have been had already been dispelled. “Have you noticed?” she asked, without giving much context.

“What?” Harry played with her hair a bit, content.

“He’s a teenager. Draco Malfoy is a living, breathing person that’s behaving his age.” Hermione yawned. “He used to be so sullen. But you’re rubbing off on him.”

“Maybe it’s you,” Harry whispered, his arms surrounding Hermione in a loose embrace, his face on the crook of her neck, her back warm against his chest. 

“No. It’s you.” she said, sleepily. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were brothers or cousins…”

Harry drifted off to sleep, Hermione’s words a distant lullaby.

/ / / / / / / / / 

“Fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked, wand at the ready.

“It’s my nightmare,” Harry replied, taking his wand out and pointing towards the exit. They faced away from one another, back to back. Trust.

One pedestal holding one heart.

And one giant snake. 

“On the count of three…” Harry started.

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three.”

“Expecto Patronum!” In unison, their voices boomed around the chamber. But the dragon and the stag were too late, and the snake had already eaten their heart. 

Back to back they bled into wakefulness.

/ / / / / / / / / / 

Harry’s eyes flew open. He sat up, cold sweat and heart racing. 

Hermione groaned and, still asleep, turned away. Harry shook his head, trying to focus again. He fumbled for his glasses and got out of bed, headed for the bathroom.

He turned on the light and splashed water on his face. He looked up through the trickling and saw, in the mirror, his scar - inflamed and being worn by the face of Draco Malfoy. 

Harry’s scream broke the mirror.

/ / / / / / / / / 

Harry’s eyes flew open. He sat up, cold sweat and heart racing.

He touched his face. It was still his face. 

Hermione groaned and, still asleep, turned away. Her overlarge t-shirt bunched up and revealed a bit of her stomach, her shoulder poked out. Harry shook his head. He needed to know that this was him being awake, truly awake, not another nightmare inside of a nightmare. He touched Hermione’s shoulder, her hair. She was solid, truly there. Harry took a deep breath. He fumbled for his glasses. Hermione sighed in her dreams and she turned again to face him. Harry lay back down, facing her, trying to calm himself down. 

“Harry?” Hermione murmured. She opened her eyes slightly in the darkness, as if she was trying to find him. 

“I’m here,” he whispered. He took her hand in his and softly kissed her knuckles.

Hermione smiled and closed her eyes again, but kept a hold of his hand. “Good,” she said, her mouth heavy with sleep. 

Harry waited until she was completely asleep again, her breath keeping a soft rhythm. Harry kissed her forehead again and whispered something he could not say when she was awake. And then he settled back to try to sleep. 

/ / / / / / / / 

Draco was rudely awakened three times: once from his dream, once from his dream inside his dream, and a third time by knocking. 

Loud and rhythmic knocking.

Knocking to the rhythm of America’s “Magic”. That had been a favorite of his mother’s, whenever she could get away with it, when his father wasn’t home.

Draco padded barefoot to the door and looked out the window. He sighed. 

“Potter! Granger! Your cavalry’s here.”

Hermione could be heard tripping on her own feet, rushing down the stairs and to the door.

“You haven’t let them in!” Hermione complained.

Draco shrugged. “They’re your friends. I wouldn’t be able to tell if it’s them or some murderous polyjuiced maniacs,” he noted. Harry was making his way down the stairs very slowly.

Hermione conceded. “Good point.” She approached the door and said, “What would be the greatest finding of Wizarding History?”

A voice on the other side of the door said, “A Crumple-Horned Snorkack”.

Another, more tired voice, added, “Comatose Mandrakes.”

Hermione smiled widely. “We’re good.” She threw the door open to find Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom, in all their odd glory. She hugged them tightly, as if she hadn’t seen them in years. “I’m so so sorry, Neville.”

Neville shrugged the apology off. “I had it coming, I have terrible timing.” Neville looked through Malfoy to Harry. “Harry!” he exclaimed. Draco rolled his eyes.

Luna looked Draco over, head to toe, and smiled. “You’re better now,” she said, snatching nothings out of the thin air around Draco’s hair. “Your aura is a much nicer shade of green.”

“Hey, Neville, Luna,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. Draco glanced at Harry and knew. They’d had the same dream again. Or the new version of the same dream. They both looked away, saving that bit of conversation for a later date. 

Hermione welcomed them and conjured up breakfast and made herself the mother hen. Harry could see their little three-person team becoming crowded, the space becoming heavier, and he tried not to let his smile falter. 

Draco wished he was a smoker, so he could excuse himself and step outside and be alone. But illegal endeavors require group efforts, it seemed, so he just kept still and quiet and ate his eggs.

“Is Ginny coming?” Luna asked, her eyes wide as if she could make Ginny corporeal just by thinking about her name.

Hermione looked nervously at Harry. “She and Ron are… busy with the shop. They didn’t know if they would make it… I think we might be on our own.”

“Oh, well,” Luna said. “At least we are five. Like a pentagram. It should be fine.” She smiled calmly. “Seven would be much better, a much more powerful number. But five is alright.”

Neville seemed to be skilled in ignoring Luna’s flights of fancy. Instead, he focused on the matter at hand. “What do you need from us? Potion-work? A bit of bodyguarding?”

“Well…” Hermione sighed. “I was thinking more along the lines of breaking and entering.”

Neville nodded, unimpressed. “Gran’s going to love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback to everyone that's had a chance to read this. I'm trying to post a chapter a week and I hope you'll keep reading and having fun with it.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione had evidently brought Luna and Neville to help her and exclude Harry and Draco.

“You are both too easy to recognize, even if I did some concealment charms, and we have no Polyjuice potion. You can’t just walk into the Ministry, not until we find exactly what we need to get to Azkaban.” 

Draco felt that even when Hermione did not have her hands on her hips, she sounded as though she did.

“So we’re just meant to stay here and do nothing?” Harry asked, indignant.

“You are to stay here. Whether you do nothing or something is entirely up to you, so long as you’re not spotted.” She stared Harry down with a force that surprised even Draco. Her eyes said, “You are not going to win this one.”

“It’s alright, Harry. I brought back issues of the Quibbler so you can do a bit of reading while we’re gone,” Luna suggested.

Neville pointed at the papers excitedly. “There’s a piece on Dementor sightings in St. Mungo's that’s bonkers. I think you’ll find it enjoyable.”

Draco tried not to laugh. Hermione noticed and turned her sights on him.

“And you! You so much as think of something dangerous to do and I will find out and it will not be fun for you,” she said, her finger wagging at him.

“She means it,” Harry sighed out.

“We’ll just be a few hours, pop into the ministry satellite office, pop back out, hopefully with useful information.” Hermione straightened out her shirt. “Now, Luna, do a few concealment charms on us, nothing too fancy, just enough so we don’t get spotted.”

In the end, Hermione re-did everything Luna did to her, feeling it was too much to walk into the Ministry Satellite Office with pink hair. She looked like Hermione but less so, her hair in box braids, her eyes hazel instead of brown, her nose slimmer, her teeth smaller. Harry immediately missed her normal Hermione face.

Of the three, Neville was the only one that wasn’t going to use concealment charms. They wanted Neville for Neville. Because nobody ever expected Neville.

“You’ll get us in,” Hermione had said, as if it was the clearest plan in the world. But Neville nodded in understanding. They’d gone over the plan fifty times: there had been diagrams.

She took Harry aside, not too far from the others, half out of earshot. “If we’re not back by four, I need you to take everything and get yourselves to this place,” she whispered, handing Harry a slip of paper. “Memorize it.”

“Wait,” Harry said softly. He held his wand and touched it against her forehead. Then he whispered “Borealis Novus.”

“What’s that about?” Hermione arched an eyebrow.

“Just… a backup plan.” He pulled at the lapels of Hermione’s coat, and whispered a warming charm. “Be careful. Be smart.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I always am.” She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him softly. He blushed, aware that they were being observed, a fact only made more evident by Luna’s completely blank stare.

“I do hope you are not as shy in the bedroom, Harry,” Luna said, absentmindedly.

“Luna!” Hermione gasped, grabbing Luna by the arm and Apparating with her, side along. With a loud crack, Neville was gone too.

Harry and Draco stared at the empty space they left.

/ / / / / / / /

Hermione cursed under her breath.

It was more of a jinx, really, and as she Apparated right into the Castle of Edinburgh she made sure she cast it in a voice barely above a whisper. She erased the trace of their apparition and looked sideways at Neville.

“Which way?” she asked. 

Neville had one advantage over Luna and Hermione. He had once belonged to a somewhat-well-regarded pureblood family. Luna’s lineage was, of course, obscured by her and her father’s eccentricities. Hermione’s was nonexistent. Neville had his Gran, who had, at least once, dragged him along for a meeting at the Ministry Satellite Office in Edinburgh and sat him down with some really good crisps, he had explained.

The only thing Neville had been remiss to mention was that the entrance to the Satellite Office just happened to be in one of the most popular tourist destinations in all of Scotland.

“Argyle Tower,” Neville said, self-assured. “Come on.”

“Can we get one of those thingies you put in your ear that tells you the story of the Castle?” Luna asked dreamily. “I’d love to hear about the local mythology.”

“I think that will have to wait,” Hermione said sternly, pulling her along.

Neville led them down stone paths to the building that was marked Argyle Tower with a small stone sign. “This is it,” he said. “I think we just go in and…” Neville wracked his brain trying to remember exactly. “There will be one misplaced stone, just sticking out. We just sort of… wiggle it about.”

Hermione liked precision. Exact plans with color coded timetables and goals on charts marked with tiny post-its. _Wiggle it about_ was not precision.

At least it didn’t seem to be the most popular building of the castle, and Hermione thanked whatever deities were on call that day for the entrance not being in the part of the castle that exhibited royal jewels.

Her relief was short-lived because… well, because half the stones of the bloody tower were sticking out. She started touching each, but nothing happened.

“Neville, you need to remember,” Luna said calmly. She placed a hand on his shoulder and took a deep breath. “Close your eyes.”

Hermione wanted to scream but really had no better ideas that would actually be useful at this particular junction, so she just huffed.

Neville took two deep breaths, his eyes shut tight, Luna steadying his breath.

And then, he opened his eyes and headed straight towards a jutting rock.

And disappeared.

“Well, then,” Luna said, smiling.

And then she skipped towards the same rock and through the wall.

Hermione sighed and did the same. Minus the skipping.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

They had stepped through the visitor’s entrance of the Ministry Satellite Office, and straight into the lobby area, where an information desk rested. Hermione was about to approach but Luna stopped her.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she noted, leaving Hermione behind as she grasped Neville’s arm and strolled to the information desk. “Wait here.”

Hermione was, admittedly, bad at lying, but she was even worse at waiting. She took a seat by the central fountain, a marble structure picturing a wizard with a wand, pointing skywards. Why not a witch, she wondered. Minerva McGonagall was Scottish and probably the wisest witch in the United Kingdom entire. But no, a wizard was immortalized in stone. She sighed and tried to listen through the crowds as Luna talked up a storm with the receptionist, and Neville nodded and served as… bait?

It was hard to tell with Luna, but Hermione had learned that she shouldn’t be underestimated. Whatever else, Luna always came through. The distance didn’t let her listen in on what Luna was saying to the receptionist, but the woman seemed to be enjoying herself and smiling.

Hermione twiddled her thumbs and caught snippets of conversation from the passersby. Her spine turned to ice when she heard the words “Potter” and “awake”. She leaned in slightly towards the people speaking, an older witch and wizard. “Yes, I hear he’s finally awake. My niece goes to Hogwarts, you see, and she sent her mother an owl, saying there was some commotion in the hospital wing,” the woman said.

“How thrilling it will be, I wonder where he’ll make his first public appearance,” the man replied.

Hermione felt her face grow hot. His first public appearance had been missed. At least there were no rumors of him being spotted in St. Mungo’s or Kings Cross.

Speaking of St. Mungo’s, however, the woman seemed to have additional gossip. “I have to get up to the Magical Maladies department. They need us to send copies of past records to St. Mungos. They had some odd weather event that destroyed all their records.”

“You don’t say,” the man commented, bemused. “Really, I don’t know how they keep the Ministry Main Office in London, their security protocols are ghastly. Leaving the biggest magical hospital unprotected from weather.”

“Yes, quite amateurish, if you ask me. We do much tidier work here in Scotland,” the woman added, her disposition much cheerier.

Hermione swallowed hard. They had to get out before someone connected their faces, altered as they were, with the damn Chocolate Frog cards.

Luna came through as predicted, and she and Neville walked back towards Hermione as Hermione stood from her post. “Is this a scout mission or a let’s get in trouble mission?” Neville asked.

“Scout,” Hermione said, almost sure.

“Good,” Neville said. “Because I’m pretty sure Luna just got us the passcodes for the apparition network to dangerous historical sites.”

Luna showed Hermione a brochure made out of parchment and grinned widely. “They gave me a flyer.”

“She said we were historians contracted by the Ministry London Office,” Neville explained. “We should go.”

“Go where?” Hermione asked, confused.

“There’s only one place you can Apparate to Azkaban from,” Neville answered, a faint whisper.

Luna handed Hermione the brochure. She turned it once, then again. The map was pretty clear, but it didn’t make much sense. “Are you sure?” Hermione asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Luna chimed. And she headed back towards the portal.

Hermione felt she was losing her grip on the mission, but shrugged it off. Objectives, not process, she told herself, as she glanced at her watch. They still had a few hours before they had to be back. They could check every detail out. Do a dry run, maybe, everything up to the actual apparition process.

She followed Neville and Lune through the portal, to the Argyle Tower, to the cobblestone paths of the Castle of Edinburgh, to the Witches’ Well.

Fucking poetic justice.

/ / / / / / / / /

“It’s not much of a well,” Neville noted.

Hermione watched the plaque by the small water fountain. The inscription read: _This fountain, erected by John Duncan, R.S.A., is near the site on which many witches were burned at the stake. The wicked head and serene head signify that some used their exceptional knowledge for evil purposes while others were misunderstood and wished their kind nothing but good. The serpent has the dual significance of evil and wisdom._ _T_ _he foxglove spray further emphasises the dual purpose of many common objects._

Neville peered over her shoulder. “That’s not really how foxglove works.”

“I think it’s nice,” Luna said softly. “It’s nice to be remembered. Even after being murdered, really.”

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She missed her normal hair, uncharmed, it would have gotten in her eyes and taken her right out of her daze. “We should hurry. There were people in the ministry, talking about Harry, and St. Mungo’s.”

“I wonder if this password works,” Luna said calmly. “I think we should try it out.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. A couple strolled past them but did not seem to hear or see them. “Are you mad? We can’t go to Azkaban now. We’re not ready.”

“Wands out,” Luna said, taking Hermione’s hand and Neville’s and, without another word, disapparating from the firm reality of the small trickling fountain.

/ / / / / / / / /

Harry and Draco were bored.

“I’m not good at waiting,” Harry confessed, halfway through their second game of cards. Gin. He’d had to explain all the rules, and after that he’d had to convince Draco not to cheat, and after that he’d had to explain why the cards didn’t do anything interesting all on their own. It had lasted a couple of hours. Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, but time was not moving at an acceptable speed. It was nearly 2.

“You should get good, fast,” Draco suggested. “Time doesn’t change for you, Potter.”

“Well, actually…” Harry started, but decided against it.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, you’ve time traveled. Why not,” he drawled.

“It was Hermione, actually. It’s better when she tells it.” Harry did not get into more specifics, such as the memory of Hermione clocking Malfoy with a nice right hook.

“That’s very annoying,” Malfoy pointed out.

“What is?” Harry asked, confused.

“The utterly besotted look you get when you think or talk about Granger.” Draco took out his toy keychain and swung the Tamagotchi around his fingers, skipping it about. “It’s kind of gross.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry blushed. “I do not get a look.”

“You can lie to yourself all you like, I’m the one looking at your face and I say, you get a look.”

Harry shrugged, giving in. “Can’t help it.”

“When did you know?” Draco asked.

“Know what?”

“That you loved her.”

Harry looked over at Malfoy, but he wasn’t looking back. He was concentrated on the Tamagotchi, pushing buttons. Was this just regular conversation for Malfoy?

“Is this some weird thing where I teach you how to be a normal human being?” Harry asked. “Because if it is, I do not meet the qualifications to be an instructor.”

Draco glanced at him sideways. “Humor me. It’s for research purposes.”

“Godric’s Hollow. She walked with me to visit my parents’ graves… not visit, I guess. Find. She put her arm around me as I stood there, trying not to cry. I think I knew then.” Harry shrugged a bit, twiddling his wand between his fingers. “I was sure she loved Ron, then, and I thought that was ok, if she was happy then that was ok.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s positively nauseating. You’re such a bloody Gryffindor. Ask you about a girl, you bring your dead parents into it.”

Harry laughed softly. “Yeah, well, I never said it was a good story.” He glanced back at the clock. 2:05. Time was moving at glacial pace. He wanted to ask Draco something back, but realized he didn’t know where to start. “How about you?” he asked awkwardly.

“No luck with the ladies,” Draco said. “Death Eater just doesn’t have the same _je ne sais quoi_ as it used to. Neither does the being asleep for a year. That only seems to work for you.”

“Sorry,” Harry replied, unsure what else he could say.

Silence. Harry watched Draco intently, but Draco avoided looking back. Draco was not used to dealing with people who would look at you straight in the eyes and then be honest. It was unnerving.

“You had the same dream I had last night, didn’t you?” Harry asked.

“How would I possibly know?” Draco answered.

His Tamagotchi had to be getting quite fat, because Draco didn’t look up and kept pushing a button.

“You fought beside me. And then you woke up, but you didn’t. And then you were me,” Harry said.

Draco finally met his eyes. “I do not care for these new developments,” he said.

“I’m not sure how I feel about it either.” Harry sighed. “Is it the wands?”

“Fucking dragon’s ass, I hate Ollivander.”

Harry got up. “We have nothing better to do. We should try,” he said, almost growing excited.

“Try what?”

“To figure out if the wands…” Harry wasn’t quite sure. “We should duel.”

“Duel?” Malfoy spat out.

“Yes! Duel. Figure out if the wands have some connection.”

“We already know they have a connection. That was the whole point of Ollivander’s little experiment.”

“Yes, but _what kind_ of connection?” Harry was already in his feet, wand at the ready, duel salute position.

Draco pocketed the Tamagotchi and drew out his wand, slow and steady. “This is ridiculous.”

“On the count of three,” Harry said. “One, two…”

“Stupefy,” cried Malfoy.

“Expelliarmus,” Harry said.

A ball of blue light met between the spells emanating from both wands and grew, engulfing them both and tossing them back against the walls. Neither was stunned. Neither was left wandless.

Bruises and headaches would be forthcoming.

But no real damage done. And unsuccessful spells.

“Huh,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fucking Ollivander,” Draco contributed, standing and offering Harry a hand. “Should I say I told you so?”

Harry stared back at the clock. 2:30. “Want to eat?”

/ / / / / / /

Hermione took a deep breath of shallow seaside air. “Luna, I am going to hex you.” She tried to steady herself in the darkness. It shouldn’t be dark, but it was. “Where the fuck are we?” she hissed.

“The shore of Azkaban Island,” she said, pointing upwards. There it stood, the fortress of Azkaban, with all its might.

Hermione gasped. “We have to get out of here,” she whispered, her voice imbued with fear. “We are not ready, we… we’re not ready.”

Neville shook his head. “This is wrong.”

“Yes, exactly what I’m saying,” Hermione said, her hands grasping Neville’s arm.

“No, Hermione, look around.” Neville pointed upwards with his wand. The sky was clear even if it was dark, no mist of death. It was not ice cold. “It’s wrong. There are no dementors. There are no screams. All the books, they always talk about the screams.”

Luna nodded towards the sea around them. “And the water is still.” It was. They stood a mere foot from the smallest of breaking waves, barely getting splashed.

Hermione looked all around them. “You’re right. This isn’t right. And if this isn’t right… if we can be here…”

“Then Lucius Malfoy isn’t here,” Neville concluded.

“Shall we make sure?” Luna asked. She took Hermione’s and Neville’s arms in her hands but Hermione stopped her.

“No.” Luna looked at Hermione curiously. “We need to go back. Because if Lucius is out, Draco is in trouble.”

And it was Hermione who disapparated them this time.

/ / / / / / / / /

They popped back into existence right beside the Witch’s Well. Hermione led them into the Tartan Mill, through the tourists walking about, then back out.

“It was too easy,” she muttered. She dodged into a café, with Neville and Luna in tow. “Order something, I’ll pay. To go.”

Luna and Neville got tea. Hermione paid in muggle money, then led them back out. They weaved in and out of shops down the Royal Mile.

“Where are we going?” Luna asked, visibly confused.

“We can’t go back to the safehouse. If someone saw us apparate, or if they’ve traced the magic, we’ll lead them straight to Harry and Draco. We can’t do that.” She cursed under her breath. “We’ll need to wait for them at the meeting point.”

Hermione weaved them into a walking tour group, taking new coats for them out of her bag, and adding a tartan umbrella to their merry little group of escape artists.

/ / / / / / / /

Harry had been staring nervously at the clock on the wall. As soon as the display called out the allotted time, he began to pace.

“They should be here,” he said, grabbing his backpack and his cap.

Draco didn’t seem all that worried. “Give them five more minutes.”

“No. Hermione said four. It’s four. We go.” Harry scanned the flat, making sure there was nothing left that would reveal their existence. “Now.”

Draco nodded. “Alright, how do we go?”

“By tram,” Harry said, grabbing the guide Hermione had left on the table, and opening it up to the map of Edinburgh. “We have to walk two blocks and then get on the tram, it’ll drop us off close enough to walk.”

“How pedestrian.”

If Harry had been in a lighter mood, he’d have pointed out that walking was, indeed, literally pedestrian. “Fucking move, Malfoy,” Harry said, pushing Draco out the door.

/ / / / /

Hermione had told Harry to be discreet and not attract attention, but he couldn’t help walking faster and faster, so fast that he forgot to skip the puddles and his shoes were soaked through. Draco had followed quietly, up and down streets, on and off the tram. But they were now wandering about the cobble streets of Old Town Edinburgh and Harry couldn’t find the place. And he was growing desperate and, in Draco’s opinion, quite stupid.

“Use the charm,” Draco said.

Harry blinked at him.

“I heard you bind your wand to her. Use that.”

“Yes, right.” Harry looked around to make sure no one was looking at him, and held the wand on the palm of his hand. “Point me.”

The wand emitted a soft glow and spun to point to its north, its newly-designated north, and illuminated a path on the cobblestone street.

“You and Granger need a refresher course on ‘Wizards: We use magic,’” Draco pointed out as he followed Harry’s lead, or the wand’s lead.

They finally arrived at the spot Hermione had mentioned. It was a small sandwich shop, which specialized in Scottish hog roast. It was tiny and packed, but Harry spotted Hermione as soon as they looked through the window. He smiled with relief but saw her eyes grow wide with fear.

And that was when it hit him. Wave after wave of indescribable pain, every nerve ending in his body on fire, needles upon needles.

He dropped to the ground and writhed uncontrollably.

Draco turned to scan the street. He threw curses back in that direction, and tried to dodge and avoid the rays of green that tried to reach him. Hermione practically climbed over tables to reach Harry, her wand out. Neville and Luna ran out after. Harry screamed, unable to control his reaction to the unbearable pain.

It was Lucius, Hermione knew, it had to be. “Draco, guard us!” she screamed.

Draco chanted out a protection spell that Hermione did not recognize. They were engulfed in a bright ball of greenish-blue light.

Hermione pointed her wand at the building across the street. Surely that’s where the attack was coming from. “Morsmordre Revelio” she called. The building became fluid and transparent. Through it, she could see two figures outlined in green. Death Eaters. “Luna, Neville, third floor. Wands out, hex them.”

Neville and Luna rushed across the street and into the shop, up the stairs. But the two men Disapparated, their green outlines pop out of existence before her eyes. The charm dissipated, the building becoming solid again.

Hermione knelt next to Harry. He was slowly regaining consciousness. He looked as if he’d been dipped in an ice bath, his hands clammy. Hermione had felt the effects of the Cruciatus curse before. He’d be weak for hours.

Meanwhile, half of Edinburgh was staring at them through Draco’s protective shield.

“We’re fucked,” Draco said in a sing-song.

Luna and Neville ran back out of the building and into the street, wands out, shaking their heads. They were met by dozens of Muggles, with astonished glances.

“We need to go,” Hermione pointed out. “Choose,” she told Luna.

Luna nodded. “Culloden moor,” she said, and taking Neville’s arm, disapparated.

Hermione extended one hand to Draco, while holding Harry with the other. She closed her eyes and with a soft crack, they disappeared from the crowd.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

The field of Culloden was empty, the wind swaying softly. Hermione had never been there before, but had seen it on a map and had read enough about the battle to approximate a landing spot.

Hermione understood why Luna had picked it. Places like that, battlefields, graveyards, they held their own special magic, the souls of many gathered in one place. Maybe that would be enough to guard them.

Luna and Neville appeared a few meters away, and walked purposefully against the high winds.

Hermione was kneeling beside Harry.

Harry had managed to sit up a bit and was trying to hold down bile and hold back the waves of nausea that the pain had left behind. “I’ll be fine,” he wheezed out. “Give me a minute.”

Draco paced around him, worried. “Why the fuck didn’t you come back to the safehouse?” he asked Neville and Luna. Anger boiled up inside Draco in a way he could not explain. “You almost got Potter killed over hog roast?”

“It was very good hog roast,” Luna said softly. “But we thought if we were followed it was best not to lead them to you… and compromise the safehouse.”

“How is this better?” he spat out. He pointed at Harry on the ground. “How is this any bloody better?”

Neville gave a short shrug. “The house isn’t compromised?” He shuffled his feet. Neville knew it was the right answer, but also that it was not helpful.

Draco laughed.

It was an uncontrollable, high pitched laugh that bordered on maniacal. A laugh so hard it brought him to his knees, it threatened to break through his skin and spill his guts on the ground. He held his belly and laughed until his eyes stung. Harry crawled over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. And that was it. Draco’s laugh, barking and horrifying, turned to racking, unstoppable sobs. His body shook uncontrollably. His hands moved to cover his mouth, then his whole face. Everything poured out of him.

He let out a broken cry. “It was my father. I know… I know…”

Hermione didn’t understand how he knew. She also didn’t know how, suddenly, Harry was hugging Draco tightly, letting him cry on his shoulder, and how she herself had ended up holding them both in her arms.

After a few minutes, Hermione took off her pack and handed it to Luna. “Find a place close by, no campers, and set up the tent and the wards. Come get us when it’s done.”

/ / / / / / / /

Hermione had never given back Bill’s tent, the tent they’d never had a chance to use before the battle, but she gathered that the decorations had been Luna’s touch. She liked making things “homey”, even if that meant colorful woolen placemats and blankets and doorknob covers and fire-hazard crocheted lamps. But she wasn’t going to complain.

Harry lay on the couch and Draco sat sullenly on a chair beside him. Hermione sat at Harry’s feet, at the very same couch, trying to explain their discoveries.

“You’re mad, Hermione,” Harry said, sipping a cup of hot water and honey that Luna had made for him. “You could’ve been badly hurt. Apparating to the shores of Azkaban is insane.”

“I know it wasn’t the best idea,” she said, trying to keep her voice low so Luna would not hear. “But we know now. Lucius is free. The dementors are free. This is bigger than us.” Hermione sighed. “Also, we made a mess of Edinburgh. The Aurors must be having a field day, obliterating memories for two city blocks plus tourists.”

Draco rubbed his face in exasperation. “We’re no closer to getting any answers but we need to…” Draco searched for the words. “Get the Ministry involved? Some adults, I think, would be a vast improvement to this merry little gang.”

“You heard Arthur,” Harry said. “The ministry is compromised, they’re still weeding out Death Eaters. I can’t believe no one has noticed a new Azkaban mass escape.”

Harry took a minute to think. It was bigger than them. He’d made this mistake before, keeping quiet, trying to do it all alone. It wasn’t sensible. “We need to tell Kingsley.”

“He’s head Auror. A spit below minister. And we basically attacked him, at St. Mungo’s.” Hermione was fiddling with her fingernails. She sighed. “It will be something.”

“We don’t have an owl,” Harry said.

Hermione rummaged through her purse. “I’ll call Arthur. Tell them where we are. It’s our best bet. At least we know we can trust him.” She took the mobile in both hands and dialed, but there was no sound. “No signal. I’ll go outside and try.”

“I’ll go with you,” Harry said, trying to stand, but Hermione pushed him back on the couch.

“Stay put,” she ordered. “The Cruciatus is no laughing matter. You need your strength.”

Harry gave Draco a pleading look, and Draco nodded in understanding. “I’ll go with you. I want to see what this _signal_ thing is all about.”

/ / / / / / / / / 

Hermione walked along the moor with the mobile held high, the antenna at its maximum length. “No bars,” she muttered.

“Do explain,” Draco sighed out.

Hermione snorted. “Phones need cords, generally. But mobiles work with wireless signals, sort of cords without cords. You connect to waves in the air. Like the wireless.” Draco blinked at her. “The radio? Like in cars and shops and… Molly has one at the Weasley’s. She hears her shows on it.”

“Yes, I know the Wireless. Mum loves her shows. So you’re picking up air waves?” Draco swirled his hand around the air.

“Yes. Exactly. Only there aren’t any here.” Hermione lowered the mobile again to check. “The wind, maybe.”

Hermione sat on a jutting rock, near the ground. Draco sat beside her.

The wind whistled and howled, swirling around them, moving the tall grass.

“Are you cold?” Draco asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m fine. We’re all fine.” She tilted her head a bit towards Draco. She grabbed a weed out of the ground. “We could all be dead. Or worse.”

“What’s worse than dead?” Draco asked.

Hermione didn’t answer. “I thought we could solve it and be back at Hogwarts by the end of the week, just taking lessons and doing homework.”

“We still might.” Draco wasn’t very good at optimism, and he sounded quite like a strangled cat when he attempted it.

“Oh, do be quiet,” Hermione said, but there was a tinge of laughter in her voice. “You are the worst consolation in the world.”

“I was sent out here to guard, not to be your friend,” Draco countered, mock offended.

But Hermione kept smiling at him, and it felt a bit warmer. “Sure, Draco. You tell yourself that.”

Hermione checked the mobile again. The wind blew and seemed to bring signal bars with it.

“Yes!” She did a bit of a sideways dance while at the same time trying not to move the phone. She dialed and brought her ear to the slightly awkward angle where the phone rested in her hand. “Hello, Arthur? We have some news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone who has commented for such kind words and I hope you keep enjoying it.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time Hermione and Draco returned to the tent, Harry was asleep on the couch. Luna and Neville were sipping tea in the kitchen.

“I put a little something in his tea,” Luna said softly, pointing to a vial of sleep drought.

Hermione smiled. “You’re a genius sometimes.” Luna shrugged.

“What did Mr. Weasley say?” Neville whispered.

“Said to stay put, that they would come for us in the morning and debrief us,” Hermione explained.

Draco shook his head. “Something’s not right.”

“Lots of things aren’t right, mate,” Neville countered.

“What is it with you Gryffindors calling everyone mate?” Draco muttered under his breath. “Yes, there’s a general wrongness going on, what with my father and probably all other Death Eaters out of Azkaban, but there’s something else. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Hermione rested her head in her hands. “It’s just been a weird and long day. We’re all knackered and we don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. We should get some sleep.” She looked over at Harry, who was completely out. “I’ll take first watch.”

/ / / / / / / / / / /

When it was Draco’s turn to take watch, Hermione had settled into the second largest couch. She barely fit, but she didn’t want to sleep away from Harry. There was also no way of sleeping next to Harry: the couch was to small and Harry was sleeping splayed out, legs twisted, arms hanging about. Draco walked past the tent flap and out onto the moor.

The wind was an arsehole. It pushed against his every step, chilling him to the bone. He kept his wand out, staring into the blackest night he’d ever seen.

The moor was anything but silent. There were creatures chirping, the blades of grass cut the air with a crunching sound.

Draco remembered the fields surrounding Malfoy Manor, manicured grass and flowers that may or may not have been carnivorous. He had been happy there, until he hadn’t been. The sky had grown dark one day and remained like that. The air had become a joyless sort of cold, slicing through him.

This was a different cold. He was standing up for something, defending something.

He wrapped his coat around himself, another hand-me-down from Hermione’s father, he figured. At least it was warm.

He looked back inside through the tent flap. Harry dead to the world, but peaceful. Hermione leaning slightly in Harry’s direction and in so doing, sleeping in what was probably the most uncomfortable position in the world.

He turned to look at the outside world, his back to the tent, his wand at the ready.

/ / / / / / / / /

It was Neville’s turn to stand watch when it all went tits-up.

It was the popping sound that alerted him. “Incoming!” Neville yelled, his wand extending to strengthen the wards.

Draco was up in a flash, but it took Harry a minute to shake off the effects of Luna’s potion. Luna and Hermione drew their wands.

“Up, Potter!” Draco called, helping him up and pointing his wand at him. “Ennervate!”

That shook up Harry right out of his daze, like the potion had drained completely from his body. He took out his wand. “What is it?”

“Someone just apparated in. I can’t see them, too dark!” Neville yelled back, as they all joined him out of the tent.

“LUMOS MAXIMA” Hermione called, pointing her wand to the dark moor. The light filled the moor for a split second, and they could see the figures scurrying through the fields, like so many cockroaches.

Draco and Harry, instinctively, stood back to back, turning slowly to scan the area, their wands out in attack position.

Hermione took ragged breaths. “Luna, bring down the tent. We need to get the fuck out of here.”

They heard the first curse hurled at them then. A cruciatus.

“On the ground!” Harry screamed, and they dropped down. The curse travelled over them, lighting the ground as it went, like a flash of lightning. It almost hit Neville, and singed a bit of the tent. Luna whispered spells, bringing the tent down. The moonlight was scarce, but bouncing off the tent, it had given their position away.

There was static in the air.

Draco cursed under his breath. “We need to see.”

“Patronuses,” whispered Harry. “They’ll do.”

Hermione nodded. “On three.”

The all cast their Patronus charms simultaneously. A stag, a dragon, an otter, a hare, and a puff of luminous smoke all dispersed through the moor, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. With the heightened visibility, they were able to catch glimpses of the men around them and their uniforms. They were wearing uniforms.

“They’re Aurors,” Hermione whispered. Her mind raced.

Harry felt his spine prickling, a rush of fear settling in the back of his neck. “We need to go. Now.”

Hermione lit the space up again with a quick Lumos. The men were encroaching on them.

“Stupefy!” cried Draco and Harry at the same time. Their wands somehow seemed to marry the spells into one powerful unique beam of light, and the jinx travelled like brushfire, knocking the Auror’s as if they’d had rugs pulled out from under them. The air tasted like metal, like blood.

“Where to?” asked Luna, taking Neville’s arm and Draco’s in her hand.

Hermione took hold of Harry’s arm as well. “We need to jump twice. Lose them.” Hermione whispered. “Shell Cottage, then Godric’s Hollow. No. Shell Cottage and Stonehenge. Don’t stop long.”

Luna nodded and disappeared with a soft pop, Draco and Neville along with her. Hermione took Harry’s hand, and they swirled out of being. They touched ground for a fraction of a second among the sand and the scent of the sea, and then they were back into the void of apparition.

Hermione landed on her knees, squeezing Harry’s hand so hard his knuckles turned pale white. “I just need… a minute.”

They had landed smack in the middle of the blasted stone circle. Stonehenge. Harry was completely certain that entrance to the circle was forbidden or something like that, but he wasn’t about to point that out. It wasn’t their first broken law of the day.

Luna was taking a second to breathe as well. “I splinched a bit of hair,” she said. It was more than a bit, Harry noted in the darkness. Luna’s hair had always been long. Now it rested just above her shoulders and there was a superficial cut on the back of her neck. 

Neville looked a bit nauseous but he searched his rucksack for some dittany and healed Luna’s cut quickly. Draco sat holding his head in his hands. Everyone was apparently whole, to the exception of Luna’s new haircut, but she didn’t seem to mind..

“We need to set up the tent,” Hermione said. “We can’t apparate anymore tonight, we’ll end up losing a limb.”

Hermione took the tent out of her bag and handed it to Harry, who used his wand to raise it and secure it. He helped Hermione stand and lent her a shoulder to steady herself as she walked.

Draco looked at the four of them, limping and breathing in short, wheezing spurts. “What do we do now?”

“Disillusionment charm on the tent,” Hermione said.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Hermione waved his concern away. “They won’t trace us here. There’s too much ancient magic. Put up wards and sleep. We all need to rest. Do not keep watch.”

Draco looked at her defiantly. “We’re screwed.”

“We’ll be just as screwed in the morning, but if we don’t sleep we’ll end up dead, too.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

For all her preaching about needing sleep, Hermione could only close her eyes. Even with Harry’s arms wrapped tightly around her, she couldn’t keep her mind from racing.

Draco was right. There was a general wrongness, some odd malfunction she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She had started making lists in her head, trying to organize her thoughts, but all she could manage was to fidget and turn.

Something about this seemed to disturb Harry and he woke, blinking in the darkness of the tent.

“Hermione,” he whispered, his voice deep and raspy. “Sleep.”

“Can’t. I’m thinking.”

He kissed her cheek softly. “No thinking,” he said. He kissed her forehead. Her nose. Her lips. “Sleeping.”

“That’s not fair play,” she whispered, kissing him back briefly.

“Sleeeeeep,” he groaned out. “Then think.”

She nodded. Sleep. Maybe she’d get better ideas in the morning. “Ok. Ok. I’m closing my eyes.”

“Good.”

She slid down the bed onto the pillow again. Harry rested his head on her pillow as well, his nose pressing against her neck, his breath warm on her skin.

She was almost half asleep when she heard him whisper, “I love you.”

And her eyes flew open again.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

They woke at first light, dragging themselves out of bed with little strength.

Neville was making tea and opening tins of peaches from the shelves of the tent kitchen. “Not much else here,” he said, offering Hermione two peach halves. One peach, Hermione though, triumphant. All things being equal, she could still add fractions.

Draco came in from the outside and Hermione just knew he’d been keeping watch.

“You are an idiot,” she told him as he sat beside her, covered in a blanket.

He shrugged. He answered softly, so only Hermione could hear. “If I sleep, I dream.” He did not add, _and so does Potter._ He didn’t know how much Harry had told her.

Harry sat on the other side of Hermione and would not meet Draco’s eyes. The answer was evidently ‘Nothing’. Harry had told Hermione nothing of the dreams, the nightmares, and how they were in a constant, accompanied loop, together. Luna eyed them curiously as she drank her tea, standing very still.

Hermione took a shaky sip of her tea, and the air rushed out of her as a confession. “It’s official: I don’t know what to do. We were attacked by Aurors last night. All the Death Eaters are apparently free now. I don’t know who we can trust. I don’t know if Arthur Weasley is ok, who’s been infiltrated. If the fucking mobile is tapped. I don’t know.”

Harry stroked her hair and gave her a kiss on her temple. “You don’t have to.”

“This is our problem, Potter’s, mine,” Draco added. He touched her shoulder gently. “You shouldn’t have to carry this.”

“We can help,” Luna said brightly. “We came up with a plan last night.”

Neville nodded. “Oh, it’s a beaut.” He made a chef’s-kiss motion.

Hermione attempted a laugh, but it was just a nervous snort. “Out with it, then.”

“We use the coins from the D.A.” Neville said, proudly. “We call everyone back.”

Hermione looked from Neville to Luna. It was, surprisingly, a good idea.

She turned to Harry. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Should we really be getting more people into this?” Harry asked.

Luna looked a bit stern. “The Battle of Hogwarts was supposed to get rid of You-Know-Who and his followers. If something has gone wrong, and we did not finish the job, well… we should just finish the bloody job.”

“Also, if the coins work, we’ll be able to know if the Weasley’s are ok,” Neville pointed out.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not keen on letting more people into this either. But I don’t think we have a choice.” She looked around her bag, rummaged around and drew out the coin. “Neville, will you do the honors?”

Neville smiled and nodded. He pointed his wand at the coin he'd taken from his pocket. “Where and when?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Tomorrow morning. 9AM. 12 Grimmauld Place.”

“Kingsley knows Grimmauld Place,” Hermione warned.

Draco understood. “He won’t expect us to go there. And we’ll be close to the Ministry. In case things go south. Further south.”

“We’ll need to put up wards, new ones. Only coin-bearers can come in or people we want in,” Harry added. “The place is mine now, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Hermione agreed. “Alright. Finish up the peaches. We can’t apparate or draw more attention to ourselves so we’re driving to London.” She looked around the room. “And one of you is going to learn to drive today.”

/ / / / / / / / /

The hardest part of the drive to London was fitting five people into Hermione’s tiny electric car. The car was no longer so much electric, as Hermione had not had a chance to charge it, so it was running on a perpetual motion charm. In the midst of rock-paper-scissors style of decision-making on who was going to sit in the middle, Hermione decided to just add an expansion charm to the backseat as well, so they’d be comfortable, at least. Luna, evidently not understanding the hierarchy between scissors and rock, took the middle seat.

The second hardest part was teaching Malfoy to drive. Luna could not be bothered to pay attention, Neville had two left feet and Harry - even though he wouldn’t admit it - was still in pain from the Cruciatus curse. So Harry moved to the backseat and slept against the window during most of Hermione’s bumpy driving lesson for Malfoy.

“This is making me nauseus,” Neville called from the backseat as the car lurched forward and then stopped again.

“This is very counterintuitive,” Draco muttered.

“You go, you break. You’re in drive. It’s automatic transmission. How is this counterintuitive?” Hermione asked, exasperated.

“It’s not a flying broomstick,” Draco offered.

/ / / / / / / / /

They made it into London in just over three hours, but at least now Draco could sort of drive, on an open road, without traffic. Hermione took over the wheel as they entered the city, and drove them slowly, through mid-afternoon gridlock, towards 12 Grimmauld Place.

Hermione explained the old Fidelius charm to Neville, Draco and Luna. This time, when she parked, she decided to leave the car out, in case they needed to make a quick exit.

They entered the house with trepidation. Cobwebs and dust covered every surface.

“Nice place you have here, Potter,” Draco muttered. “Lovely décor.”

“It’s in the Black Family Style you’re so accustomed to,” Harry countered.

“Boys…” Hermione interrupted. “Let’s get this clean and protected, please. Save the backyard brawls for later.”

“Oh, can I decorate?” Luna asked, excitedly.

Harry looked at Hermione helplessly.

“How about you do the protection charms for the DA access and change the Fidelius for something more… modern?” Hermione suggested. “You are very good at protection charms. And when you’re done you can decorate the… the kitchen.”

Luna nodded.

“I’ll do the garden,” Neville offered excitedly.

Hermione smiled as Neville and Luna took off to work on their assigned tasks. She shook off her hands, placed them on her hips and stared down the awful, dark living room. “Alright then. Let’s make this house habitable and at least seventy percent less creepy,” Hermione declared.

/ / / / / / /

They managed to get to fifty percent less creepy and called it a draw. Luna and Neville declared themselves victors, having gotten their work in the fastest, and Hermione rewarded them with the mission to buy food. She gave them muggle money and a whispered blessing, and they left to go get sandwiches and tea.

Harry was asleep in the decidedly uncreepy couch when Hermione stopped in to check on him and Draco. Hermione frowned, and brushed her fingers through Harry’s unkempt hair. “It’s the Cruciatus,” Hermione said. “When it happens, you wish that death would come quickly.”

Draco nodded. “I know.”

Hermione looked at him confused. “How do you know?”

Draco shrugged. “Do I really have to go into the fairytale that was living with Lucius?”

Hermione shook her head. She walked over to him and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “You saved us yesterday. Thank you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Draco answered dryly.

Hermione grinned at him. “It’s a little late for that, Draco. Retail rules: You’re stuck with us now.”

It seemed more a blessing than a threat.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

Neville and Luna had, surprisingly, managed to procure burgers and chips and bottles of lager. And chocolate cake. “I didn’t give you enough money for this,” Hermione exclaimed.

“I’m very good at maths,” Luna pointed out. “I just took the highest bank note and transfigured all the others to look exactly like that one.”

“Luna Lovegood, if you were not the strangest human being I’ve ever run into, I would marry you,” Draco declared. Luna looked quite proud of both ends of that statement.

Neville seemed to concur with the sentiment, quite enjoying his burger. “Ravenclaws and forgery.”

“I could marry this burger,” Hermione countered. Harry watched her eat with fascination. Draco kicked Harry under the table and Harry understood immediately. He was getting the look that Draco had gone on about. He stuffed some chips in his mouth and tried to look away. It was just that Hermione ate with such gusto, and she laughed even with chips in her mouth, and he wanted to never stop looking at her.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, but kept eating.

Hermione bumped Harry’s shoulder with her own, offered him a bottle of beer which Harry took with a smile.

Draco looked around the table. Friends eating and sharing. Luna was dipping her chips in the chocolate frosting of the cake, which was disturbing. Neville belched loudly and his ears turned red as he apologized. Harry and Hermione snuck glances at one another. For the first time in a very long time, Draco felt his age. He touched his pocket, feeling for the small keychain inside it, and cheered with Neville, clinking bottles of warm beer.

It felt like home.

/ / / / / / / / /

“Does it hurt?” Hermione asked Harry while she brushed her teeth, mouth full of foam. 12 Grimmauld Place was large enough for all of them to get their own rooms but Hermione and Harry had established a routine she did not intend to break, and she liked looking at him on the bed. Their bed.

Harry scratched his beard a bit. “Only when I breathe.”

Hermione spit out onto the sink of the adjoined bathroom and gave him a sideways glance. “I was worried.”

“I am worried.” Harry sat up on the bed and swung his legs around, his feet firm on the ground, and faced her. He watched her finish her night routine, she splashed water on her face, her hair in a high ponytail that made her curls stand like a pompom atop her head. She checked her teeth in the mirror to make sure all was in order. She caught him staring and gave him a bemused smile.

She walked over to him and leaned down to kiss him. He tasted the mint of her toothpaste, and her mouth warmed into his. His hands rested on her hips and before he knew it, she was astride him, her weight on him like a gift. His hands moved up her back and down her arse to bring her closer and she laughed as he leaned back and she fell on top of him. He laughed too. He wanted to kiss her forever, he wanted to shag her senseless, though he was unsure how exactly that proposal would be received. He wanted to have her on him, below him, all around him. But now he wanted to laugh with her, because laughter had been so scarce for so long.

She settled on top of him, still straddling his hips, and smiled at the feeling of so much of her being in contact with so much of him. She was wearing a t-shirt that Harry recognized as one of his own, old and very thin. She kissed his neck softly. The air rushed out of him. “Hermione…” he sighed, a slight catch in his voice.

“I want to tell you something,” she whispered in his ear, and the tiny puffs of air were intoxicating. Absently, his hands swept up her back, under the thin thin t-shirt, on her smooth skin.

She shivered a bit at his touch and he stilled his hands. “Ok,” he said softly.

“I know you’ve been telling me secrets while I sleep.” Hermione kissed his earlobe, butterfly wings.

“How do you know that?” he asked, turning to meet her eyes. The feeling of her on top of him was new and full and he was having a hard time hiding his interest.

“I know,” she breathed, her lips close to his, so close.

Harry captured her mouth in a kiss that tried to end the conversation, deep and full, her mouth warm and inviting. His hands moved back down to her arse and pulled her closer, pressing her against him. She made a soft noise that sounded almost like a purr.

“Is it ok that I know?” she asked, every word punctuated by a kiss, Harry on her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.

He dipped his head to kiss the edge of the oversized t-shirt, right above the swell of her breasts. “Yes,” he whispered against her golden-brown skin. “It’s ok.”

He flipped them over playfully, and the mood changed quickly. She wanted his weight on her but he had other ideas.

His fingers skimmed her lips, swollen, her long neck, her collarbone, and lower, over her shirt but between her breasts, barely pausing, then drawing a straight line to her navel. Beside her, he watched every reaction as he went, every hitched breath, listened to every sound.

And a bit lower. “Harry?” she asked, her eyelids fluttering closed as his fingers dipped lower, reaching the edge of the large t-shirt and pulling it slowly upwards, brushing the tops of her thighs.

“Yes?” he said, his fingertips lingering at the top of her very sensible white cotton panties, tracing the elastic; her skin electric, her eyes wide.

“I want to know all your secrets,” she murmured, her eyes closing and her back arching just so as Harry’s fingers moved under the fabric and lower still.

Harry smiled and lowered his lips to her ear. Softly he whispered his secrets to her as he touched her gently, ever so gently, until stars burst behind her eyelids.

/ / / / / /

Midnight tea was becoming a tradition. As Harry made his way to the kitchen, he could hear Malfoy making pots and pans clang, followed by colorful swears. He found him using his actual hands to look for the kettle and failing miserably.

“Accio kettle,” Harry said, sleepily. Draco glared at him, and used his wand to light the stove while Harry filled the kettle.

“I would have found it eventually,” Draco drawled, sitting at the counter.

“What was it you said I needed? Lessons on ‘You can do that with magic’, was it?” Harry smiled as he summoned cups and a can of tea.

He looked… different. Draco’s eyes widened.

“You sly fox,” Draco said, animated. “You got away with something.”

Harry screwed up his face trying to hide whatever it was Malfoy seemed to think he saw in it. “What are you going on about?”

Draco smiled widely. “You look like the cat that ate the pixie.”

“It’s the canary,” Harry corrected. “I really need to get you in front of a telly.”

Draco ignored this. “You do, you’re standing there like you won the bloody House Cup.”

Harry motioned for Draco to keep his voice down. “You’ll wake everyone.” But he couldn’t keep the half smile that crept up his lips. He rubbed the back of his neck a bit, trying to find the right words. “She’s just… she’s something else.” He shook his head and laughed softly, to himself. “Her hair always smells like the Forbidden Forest."

Draco just raised an eyebrow. “By Merlin, do _not_ go into details.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

They sipped their tea quietly. For a minute, Harry thought the teasing would continue, but Draco went another route. “Tell me more about your dog.”

“My dog?” Harry looked at him, slightly confused.

“Yes, your dog, the one you’re going to have. The mutt that leaves the hair on the sofa.” Draco motioned with his cup. “Tell me more about that.”

Harry exhaled a short laugh and then looked up towards the ceiling, trying to conjure up his perfect future dog. “He’ll be good at fetch, but crap at understanding what it is you’re pointing at. If you don’t walk him when it’s time for his walk, he’ll poke you with his nose, like on your leg. He’ll snore.”

“Does your dog have a name?” Draco asked, seemingly interested.

Harry shrugged. “Not yet.”

“You should think of a name,” Malfoy concluded, finishing up his tea. “And you should go back to sleep. Else she might think you’ve run away and decide she’s better off with Longbottom.”

Harry let Draco go ahead, and stayed in the kitchen for a few more minutes. He thought about Hermione and about dog names, and how she’d probably want to help pick out the name. Because in his mind, it was her dog, too.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

The DA started to trickle in at about eight-thirty in the morning. Seamus was the first to arrive, and he looked roaring for a fight.

“I’ve been cooped up in a farm for six months,” he explained, taking a sip of the tea Luna had just handed him. “The minute the coin started to jump I knew I had to come.” He patted Harry’s shoulder and smiled.

Dean popped in soon after. The summon had worked like a charm, because it was indeed a charm. Dean embraced Seamus in a brotherly hug and then hung an arm around Harry, too.

The room started to fill with noise and laughter, buoyant and present. Hannah, Padma, Parvati. Katie, Angelina, Alicia. Lee Jordan. Even not-so-little Dennis Creevey. Michael Corner. Cho.

There were hugs and whispers.

Draco stayed off to one side, unsure of what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be, in the middle of them all. He was the only Slytherin of the bunch. Did such distinctions matter anymore? There were sideways glances from Dean and Seamus. Katie Bell especially seemed rightfully shocked to see him.

He had wondered if hell was something like this: Facing those you’ve aggrieved. Having to work alongside them.

Harry caught sight of Draco through the chatter and motioned for him to join the group. Draco shook his head. So Harry did his Gryffindor best and walked over to Draco and leaned against the same wall he was leaning against, standing just beside him, in a sub-par imitation. Hermione looked at Harry mimicking Draco’s nonchalant wall-slouch, and walked over to them.

Soon, the entirety of the group had turned to face them, and it was as if the center of the room had shifted. Harry was the center of the room, and if Harry was next to Draco, then Draco was the center of the room as well. Neville tossed Draco a galleon, a strange and heavy Galleon that was warm in the palm of his hand.

“Cheers, mate,” Draco said, without even thinking about it. Dean laughed.

Draco knew this acceptance was temporary. There were apologies he’d have to make, and soon, before he could be trusted to have anyone’s back, before they would defend him. But with the warm coin in his hand, Draco knew that he belonged and that he would die for anyone in this room. The certainty felt heavy in his hands.

Harry looked down at his watch. It was almost nine, the time the meeting was to start, but there was no sign of Ron or Ginny. He swung an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and kissed her forehead, resigned.

“We should start,” Hermione told him, her voice heavy with disappointment.

Then, almost as if on cue, Ginny popped into existence near the fireplace. The crowd parted for her and she threw her arms around Luna, a fierce hug of sorrow. “They took dad,” she told Harry and Hermione, Luna’s blonde hair stuck to her tear streaked face. “He’s under Imperius. The Ministry… they have him.”

“Where’s Ron?” Hermione asked.

But she didn’t need an answer.

That very moment, Ron apparated into existence with George, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Oliver Wood... and Hagrid. “I thought we might need backup,” Ron said, sheepishly.

Harry crossed the room to Ron and hugged him tightly. “You said…” Harry started. All the Weasleys. He couldn’t bear to think what might happen if another Weasley lost their lives.

“I know what my role is,” Ron stated firmly. He was looking mostly at Hermione when she said it. “We all know our roles here.”

Hermione ran and hugged both Harry and Ron almost violently. A patented Granger glomp that all but knocked them over.

Hagrid blew his nose loudly and patted Harry’s head with his enormous hand. “This takes me back.”

Harry looked around the room and felt a heavy peace fill his lungs.

They had the army. Now they needed the plan.

/ / / / / / /

Hermione had transfigured a wall into a blackboard and an old pipe into chalk and was explaining the sort of battle plan that seemed almost like a Quidditch playbook.

“Percy’s our way in,” she pointed out. “He’s been inside the Ministry most recently and can tell us all where to go and how to move.”

“We’ve got the element of surprise,” Percy said. “But it won’t be much of an advantage.”

“We think Kingsley is under Imperius, too,” George intervened. “Dad was communicating with him alone, and what you tell us about being attacked by the Aurors, it makes total sense.”

Harry ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. “We should split into groups. We have two specific targets for rescue, Arthur and Kingsley. But we need to find who put them under the curse so we can break it. And we need to gather information as to what is happening in the Ministry so we can fix it.”

“Seamus, Dean, Ron: you’ll take point on the rescue, Bill, Fleur and Charlie will provide strength in numbers. Luna, Ginny, Neville: you’ll manage supplies and protection charms. No need for Concealment Charms: we’re going to go as ourselves.” Hermione looked around the room. “George, Oliver: transportation strategy – get us in, get us out. Lee, Angelina, Dennis: Communication. We need to be able to be in touch all the time. It might be useful to rework actual muggle coms. The rest of us will divide the Ministry into sections and aim to rifle through everything we can to gather information.” Hermione looked well pleased with the organization she had in mind. “We’ll have to go at night, when regular workers are out. I think we’ll need at least a day to prepare, especially for communication. What do you think, Lee?”

Lee nodded. “I’ve got some ideas. But they’ll need financing.”

Hermione opened her bag and pulled out a stack of banknotes, neatly wrapped in a paper strip from a Muggle bank. “Let’s go shopping.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

Those who were not team heads were charged with keeping them fed and organized until their mission objectives became clearer. So Parvati, Padma, Alicia, Hanna, Cho had left and arrived with mountains of take away of at least five different countries' cuisines. Katie, Michael and Dennis manned the kitchen for distribution.

12 Grimmauld Place was buzzing with work. Percy had drawn the layout of the Ministry on the wall where the Black Family Tapestry had once hung. When Percy touched his wand to it, the drawing became three-dimensional and it could be spun around to show the secret entrances. His brothers looked at him with as close to admiration as they had ever expressed, at his prodigious memory and his clear proficiency at map scale. Seamus, Dean, Ron, Bill, Fleur and Charlie all sat up straight in attention trying to memorize the most likely places to find the hostages, exits and entrances. Draco and Harry hung back a bit, watching the path the food made through the tables, once in a while glancing back at the map of the ministry and recording it into their minds.

Parvati placed a container of what looked like fish and chips near Neville, who was making a list of plants that could come in handy and could easily be found on a nearby public park. Cho gave Luna and Ginny a stack of naan and a bowl of palak paneer, and looked over their shoulders at their list of useful charms, pointing out something on the list. Oliver and George were debating the pros of apparition versus brooms while Alicia placed egg rolls on their table.

Hermione and Lee arrived with four enormous plastic bags full of equipment, which they emptied on a table in front of Angelina and Dennis. Katie joined that table, filled with curiosity. “What’s this for?” she asked.

“It’s almost a thousand quid worth of communication gear for the truly paranoid, and I need for you all to figure out how to make it work with magic, in at least exactly the same way it would work without,” Hermione said.

Lee shrugged. “At least there’s a manual.”

“No food on the tech table,” Hermione declared. Everyone except the few Muggle-borns looked at her in confusion. “The communications table, no food there." Again, blank stares. She sighed. "If you’re close to any muggle-looking equipment just eat in the kitchen,” she called over the noise of the worker bees.

Harry followed Hermione’s movements through the room until she came to sit by him and Draco, and concentrated on Percy’s ministry lecture.

Hagrid came in from the yard, his hands full of dirt. “I made a place for Buckbeak out back,” he told Harry as he headed to the kitchen. Padma handed him a stack of food containers and Hagrid seemed satisfied with the quantity.

“So what’s our best point of entry?” Hermione asked Percy, picking up a fork and spearing a piece of Draco’s sweet-and-sour chicken. Draco rolled his eyes and drew the container away, out of her reach.

“The kitchens,” Dean answered. Percy looked like a proud parent. “The elves will be sleeping, it’s the least guarded and it has access to all the levels, including the department of mysteries.”

Hermione smiled. “Good. Tomorrow night, then,” she concluded. “Tomorrow night, we storm the ministry.”

Ginny, a few feet away, nodded in agreement. “And if we have to, we burn the bloody building down.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

Draco found Katie Bell in the kitchen, shrinking the empty take away containers into a more manageable size before tossing them in the bin.

He knocked on the open door and felt immediately stupid for doing so.

Katie turned and saw him. “Oh. It’s you.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, exactly. He shook his head and plowed on. “I wanted to apologize…” he started, but failed to go beyond that.

Katie raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to. Harry says you’re good, so we’re good.”

“But I do owe you an apology.”

“You owe me six months of my life, Malfoy,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You know what that’s like… You lost a year yourself. I don’t think that’s a debt you can pay with words.”

Draco felt his heart drop to his feet. “No. It’s not.”

“You do good in this fight, Malfoy. Do right by Harry. Then, maybe then, I’ll hear your apology,” Katie said. She stared down at the rest of the containers piled in front of her and smiled slyly. “You can finish cleaning the kitchen, too.”

And then she walked away, a satisfied smirk on her face.

/ / / / / / / / / /

The vast population increase in 12 Grimmauld Place led to a redistribution of living quarters. Sleeping bags were transfigured from myriad of other objects, blankets pulled out from Hermione’s infinite bag. Hermione and Harry found that Draco and Ron were their new, reluctant roommates.

“I blame Ginny,” Ron pointed out, fluffing up his sleeping bag that had, until recently, been an antique Grecian urn.

“Your sister has a rather interesting sense of humor,” Draco concluded. “There are a million Weasleys. I’m surprised you didn’t all get your own room.”

“That’s one way of losing half your troops before the battle begins,” Ron explained. “You’re lucky you’re an only child, Malfoy, I tell you.”

Draco stretched out his sleeping bag on the floor. “We got the short end of the stick here. Potter and Granger do the whole kissing thing at night. It’s rather _dégo_ _û_ _tant._ ”

“I don’t even know French but I’m sure that means it’s gross,” Ron concurred.

“Will you two just shut up and sleep so we can turn the light off?” Harry asked from the bed, where he and Hermione stared at the ceiling, keeping so distant he could almost feel the sheets cooling between them.

“We’re just trying to be friendly. You asked us to be friendly,” Ron said. He pointed out the space between himself and Draco. “See? Friendly.”

“Yes. We’re being very civil. I thought you’d be proud,” Draco added.

“If you two don’t shut up and go to sleep I will start doing things to Harry that will either make you very uncomfortable or very jealous,” Hermione threatened. “And I will start in 3… 2…”

Ron and Draco scurried into their sleeping bags as fast as they could. Ron even turned off the lights.

“Goodnight, boys,” Hermione said. She whispered softly a small charm that Harry could almost swear was a Muffliato.

“What things were you planning on doing to me to make them uncomfortable or jealous?” Harry asked, his hand sneaking under Hermione’s shirt.

“Nope,” Hermione said, smiling at Harry’s eagerness. “I have plans for you but they certainly do not involve those two being in the room, so they’ll have to wait.”

“I hate them with every fiber of my being,” Harry said, softly kissing Hermione’s cheek and pulling her closer. She smiled as she felt his breath tickling her neck.

“No, you don’t.” She looked down at Draco and Ron, who’d fallen fast asleep already. “Do you think we’ll be ready, tomorrow night?” Hermione asked.

“Readier than we’ve ever been before,” Harry whispered. He buried his face in her shoulder and sighed. “Don’t die on me.”

“Don’t die on me, either,” Hermione said back.

Harry nuzzled her neck and whispered, “I love you.” It was easier for him to say now, after the previous night. It felt almost normal. 

He was already asleep by the time she said it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crediting Jesse Savage over at the Harmony & Co FB group for the awesome term "Granger Glomp". I had this chapter all finished and had to double back and write it in. Cheers!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a quick note to thank everyone who has been reading and commenting. This chapter has a bit of action going on (which I'm new at), and a lot of balls up in the air, hopefully it will work out well. Thanks again for your kind words!

George explained the transportation plan like he did everything else in his life since the Battle of Hogwarts: once in a while, he’d cast a sideways glance deferring to the ghost of his twin, leaving the emptiness hanging in the air, a forever-unanswered question. Then he turned back and smiled to the group.

The plan was: They would use everything.

Hermione thought that Fred would have been more than proud.

Some would floo, some would fly. Some would Apparate. Sirius’ motorcycle and Buckbeak were also involved, as was the old toilet passageway. It was chaotic and, Hermione had to admit, brilliant. If they arrived from all flanks, even if one team didn’t make it, there’d be no way for them to all be stopped.

Percy, Bill and Charlie still had approved Ministry credentials, so they were charged with escorting the essential teams.

Lee showed everyone how to work the earpieces. Padma and Parvati were the most delighted in the technological advancement as it allowed them to talk in each other’s ears non-stop. Neville handed out various herbs, Draco handed over a few potions. Luna corrected Seamus’ form on his Patronus, Ginny showed Dean how to improve his Bat Bogey hex. In the excitement, Katie and Michael arrived with sandwiches, and switched with Dean and Seamus for a check of their owns skills.

Harry nervously moved his wand from one hand to the next.

“What do you think?” Ron asked, his mouth half-full.

Harry sighed. “Every other time we’ve done something this stupid before, we were less prepared.”

“So at least if they kick our arse this time, it’ll be our own bloody fault,” Ron mused.

Harry nodded vigorously. He looked around the room. “Ginny seems a bit… murderous.”

“We said we wouldn’t lose another Weasley to these fuckers. We mean it.” Ron took a tight hold of his wand. “We’re not going down without a fight.”

Harry looked at Draco from across the room, then at Hermione who was studying the Ministry blueprints, then at Ron with renewed purpose. “We’ll bring Arthur home.”

/ / / / / / / /

Harry looked around the room. Wands at the ready, they looked to him.

Night had fallen and it was time.

They were divided into waves. They had synchronized their watches.

They were ready.

“I’m not great with words, you all know that,” Harry started. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gave them a half-smile. “But I am proud to fight beside each and every one of you and I thank you for coming to our call. We can’t let the Ministry fall again. We can’t let ourselves become weak again. We must stay strong. We must fight for those who cannot see that the fighting is necessary.” He took Hermione’s hand and squeezed it hard. “You all know what you have to do. If you get in trouble, call. And I have only one order for you: Don’t die. We need you all to keep our world working. Also, if you die, Malfoy will say ‘I told you so’ about the whole Gryffindor bravery thing. So, you know, let’s not give him the satisfaction. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, that goes for you, too.”

There was a rumble of nervous laughter. Draco shrugged amicably.

Harry held his wand close to his heart and nodded. “Everyone, positions.”

Harry and Draco walked out to the garden, followed by Hagrid, Katie Bell, Hermione and Ron. They were on flying duty. There would be a second wave of flyers. Draco mounted his broom. Hagrid and Katie Bell were on Sirius’ motorbike, Ron and Hermione would fly in with Buckbeak. The flyers would need to get on the Ministry roof to apparate in.

From the fireplace, the floo commission would take their place. The ones that would apparate would leave with a fifteen-minute delay, so as to arrive at the same time as the flyers.

Harry held Hermione’s hand before she mounted Buckbeak. “Kiss the girl,” he said, kissing her softly.

“Seize the day,” she whispered, patting the lapels of his shirt. “Don’t be a stupid hero.”

Harry grinned.

Ron helped Hermione up onto Buckbeak, who rose slowly with both of them in tow.

Harry mounted his broom. “Wands at the ready,” he called. George and Charlie, lead flyers, would give them the go ahead. “Disillusionment charms!” George called, already hovering in mid-air.

“Go!” Charlie called.

Harry and Draco kicked off. Sirius’ motorbike roared. Buckbeak screeched and took flight.

It had been a long time since Harry had flown a broom but it was still as exhilarating as the first time. He thought he would enjoy it while it lasted.

The ride to the Ministry was short. Percy had told them that they would need to pierce the veil of protective charms around the Ministry in order to properly place themselves on the roof. They all took their wands out and said the incantation for the lightning spell, which provided a temporary opening for them to fly in.

Once on the roof, they waited. Hagrid got into his lookout position.

Hermione dismounted Buckbeak and closed her eyes, expectant. She almost wished she could hear the soft pops of apparition. But one minute later, she heard the next best thing. Lee Jordan’s voice over the comms. “In position.”

Hermione took Draco’s and Harry’s hands and apparated in.

/ / / / /

The bowels of the Ministry filled with young Wizards. Soft pops brought them into the kitchens, the corridors.

Hermione looked around her and did a headcount. “Dean and Seamus?” she asked.

They appeared a few seconds later. “Sorry about that,” Seamus said. “Had to pee.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Form squads.”

“Percy, take lead,” Harry said.

Percy nodded. He pointed to a series of doors, solid and stoic. “Level 1 – Ministry of Magic and Support Staff office – This is where Arthur and Kingsley should be.”

Bill, Ron and Fleur got behind Seamus and Dean and waited for their chance at the door. Both Seamus and Dean had their wands out and pointed.

“Level 2,” called Percy, “Magical Law Enforcement. The Auror department should have enough information to keep you busy.”

Hermione lined up with Luna, Neville and Ginny. Lee, Dennis and Michael stood behind them, purportedly as muscle. Hermione wished for a minute that Hagrid had not stayed on the roof to stand guard, as that was muscle that would be sorely needed. But she shrugged off the worry and gave Harry the bravest look she could muster.

“Level 3. Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Should be empty. Do a quick sweep,” Percy pointed out. Hannah, Parvati, Padma and Michael took that assignment. “When you’re done, come back here and move to level 4, that’s Magical Creatures. If there’s trouble, you call Charlie.”

“Level 5. International Magical Cooperation. That’s Alicia, Cho and me,” Percy added. “We’ll take 7, games and sports after that.”

“Level 6 is transportation. Oliver and I will clear it. That’s our meeting spot for leaving. We have four hours, less if things get hairy. Angelina will come with us and handle comms.“

“We’ll take the Atrium and the Department of Mysteries,” Harry pointed out. It was Draco, Charlie, Harry, Katie. “If we find nothing we move to the courts, but we may not have time.”

They stood in a neat line in front of their doors. Percy started the count. “3… 2… 1…”

And they all rushed through their doors.

/ / / / / /

Hermione found her door… anticlimactic.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement look like any office from an old movie. And it seemed empty.

“Hominem Revelio!” she whispered, her wand scanning the room for her. “No one.”

“No humans,” Dennis pointed out. “There could be house-elves. Or some other creature.”

Hermione nodded. “Let’s be quick. We need to get into the Auror files and find anything related to their mission from two days ago. When we were attacked in Culloden Moor.”

Ginny’s hands were tight fists. “How is this going to help?”

Luna placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s the mission. Ron will find your dad. We focus on our mission.”

“Here,” Neville called. “There’s a filing cabinet.”

Hermione called for Neville not to open it before checking for charms or alarms, but it was too late.

He’d opened it and nothing seemed to be buzzing or ringing.

“Let’s be quick,” she remarked.

They all scattered around the files.

/ / / / / / / / /

Draco was first through their door. He felt a certain responsibility for The Boy Who Woke, and didn’t want to put Katie Bell as attack vanguard.

The air of Department of Mysteries tasted bitter, Harry thought. It would forever feel tainted by death.

“Hominem Revelio,” Katie threw out, her wand pointing straight down the corridor. It came back nil. “Level 9, clear.”

“Level 2, clear,” Hermione said through the comm.

“Level 3, clear,” Parvati’s voice replied.

“Level 5, clear,” Percy said.

George was the last to call out. “Level 6 is clear and we are preparing exit strategy. Over.”

There was static and silence for a second. “Level 1, status,” Hermione asked.

“Level 1 is heavily populated. We are advancing,” Bill’s voice was clear and calm. “We may need backup after scout. Over.”

Harry and Draco shared a quick glance. “Should we?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. “We have one directive here.” He pointed towards the third door on the left. “We’ll join them after.

The sign on the door read, “DREAMS.”

/ / / / / / / / /

Ron wished he had a sneakoscope. Or Mad-Eye Moody’s magical eye. As it stood, he had Harry’s invisibility cloak and the mission of being the first scout.

Before he’d started his march towards the unknown, Bill had cast a revealing spell and the department was shown to be buzzing. If the calls from the others were any indication, the rest of the Ministry was empty. But Ron could hear typewriters and phones and voices and quills as he advanced.

When he finally turned the corner onto the open office floor plan, he was met with what could have been a busy Monday morning.

Worker bees, one and all. Everyone at their desks, important men and women doing important things.

But their eyes were all glossed over in daze.

Ron spotted his father in the distance. To the side stood Kingsley, the same lost look in his eyes.

Another witch walked into a desk, then back into another.

Then back again.

Ron looked closely at the actions.

Everyone seemed to be on a loop, repeating the same actions, over and over.

Ron closed his eyes for a minute and thought. If it was the Imperius curse, someone had to be giving them orders. But if they had no orders to follow… they would revert to doing one thing over and over again.

They were puppets.

Ron turned to run back towards the others but heard a voice, different, full of force. He recognized the voice.

Rookwood.

And Lucius Malfoy.

“How long before we’re ready?” Lucius asked.

“Two days. Three maybe. Everyone’s working, as you can see.” Rookwood stretched his arms wide, and turned a half circle, indicating his hive of workers. “Some are better than others. But none could resist.”

“I want to see the progress,” Lucius warned.

Rookwood gave him a curt nod. “This way.”

And he led them toward the lifts. “Two, outgoing,” Ron whispered into his comms, hoping against hope the Muffliato worked.

Rookwood and Malfoy did not seem to notice as they disappeared into the lifts.

Bill and Dean came out of their disillusionment charm. “What happened?” they asked as Ron removed Harry’s cloak.

“Rookwood and Lucius Malfoy. They’re off to check some progress.”

Bill pressed his Comm in panic. “Incoming, two. Rookwood and Malfoy Senior. Stand at the lifts, wands out. No clear destination.”

Seamus and Fleur approached Kingsley with trepidation but he did not seem to see them. Ron walked over to Arthur and waved a hand in front of him. Nothing.

“Some combination of imperius and obliviation,” Fleur surmised, snapping her fingers in front of Kingsley’s eyes. “We need to break the wand that did this, oui?”

Bill nodded. He pressed his comms again. “Rookwood’s wand is priority number 1. There are approximately three hundred ministry employees under Imperius.”

“Copy,” came Hermione’s voice. The other floor teams echoed their copy.

Dean looked around. “Let’s get Kingsley and Arthur to Transportation and give backup to the other floors. Who knows where Rookwood will land.”

/ / / / / / /

“Copy,” Hermione said. “You heard the man. Dennis, Lee, Neville, man the lifts. Luna, Ginny, get everything you can and put it in here.” She handed her bag over to the younger women.

“What are you going to do?” Ginny asked.

Hermione walked back to the door that led to the kitchens. “Give Lucius Malfoy a piece of my mind.”

/ / / / /

“Copy,” said Parvati. They’d managed to make their way to their second assigned level. Padma hadn’t expected to find actual Magical Creatures caged in the Ministry offices, but this was worse than anything she could have imagined: magical creatures frozen in glass cases.

But they were alive. Magically frozen, Padma could see their eyes moving. “This isn’t right,” she told her sister.

Hannah and Michael approached one of the glass cases. A hippogriff. The next held a Manticore. Stranger still, the next held a Unicorn. “Why would a Unicorn be trapped?” Michael asked.

Hannah’s eyes went wide with disgust. “They’re decoration. They haven’t done anything wrong, they’re just… trophies.”

Parvati looked at her sister, both knowing exactly what had to be done.

“Michael, guard the lifts,” Padma ordered.

Parvati nodded. She spoke into her comms. “Team leaders, we’re about to make some noise. Meet you on Level 6.”

Hannah smiled widely and clapped her hands softly. “Oh, Hagrid will be so proud.”

/ / / / / /

Percy managed to say, “Copy,” then turned his eyes to the lifts, wand drawn. They were in Level 7, Games and Sports. “Alicia, Cho?” he asked.

“Yes?” they answered in unison.

“I have a mission for you.” His smile widened. “How do you feel about some Bludgers going rogue?”

Cho and Angelina exchanged concerned looks. “Are you sure?” Cho asked.

The ex-prefect, ex-head boy, raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Anything comes in through those doors gets a bludger in the face.”

/ / / / /

Level 6, Transportation, contained mountain upon mountain of human artifacts that would one day be Portkeys.

That day had come.

George, Oliver and Angelina were busy turning every stray boot into a Portkey, every mismatched sock, every old teapot.

“Copy,” George said at Bill’s message. “We need at least 30 minutes to get the transport ready. Maybe 40.”

He nodded to Angelina, who stood by the lifts, her wand lifted.

“Roger. Assistance is on the way. As soon as we get confirmation on target status, we’ll be on the move,” Bill replied.

The lift lights kept moving through the floors.

/ / / / / /

On Level 9, Katie and Charlie had their wands trained on the lifts.

Harry and Draco, who’d been rifling through the files of the Dreams section of the Department of Mysteries, paused. Draco stuffed two files he’d found interesting into the pocket of his cloak. Harry lifted his wand, immediately his heart thumped in his ears.

The lift was moving down, down, lower and lower, and it was not stopping.

/ / / / / /

Hermione stood in the kitchens, alone, waiting for a sign as to which floor the Death Eaters would land.

“Level 2, clear,” Neville’s voice said. Hermione pressed her earpiece tight with her hand.

“Level 3 and 4, cleared. We’re leaving a mess and heading to Level 6,” Parvati pointed out, her voice giddy.

“Level 5 and 7, cleared. We’re moving to 6.”

“Level 9 compromised,” Draco’s voice said. “We’ll need backup when the Lift stops.”

Hermione, determined, stepped through the door.

/ / / / / / /

Harry saw Hermione, a brief flash out of the corner of his eye, her mess of a hair high on her head, her wand trained at the lift doors.

“No,” he ordered, but she was not deterred.

Everything happened very fast.

Draco pushed Hermione and Harry into the Room of Dreams, a quick shove and a look that said ‘shut up and stay put and leave well enough alone’.

Charlie and Katie hid behind pillars, their wands still trained at the elevators, but out of sight.

Draco found himself behind the door of the Death Chamber. The veil shimmered enticingly. Through a crack in the door, he could see the lift opening.

His heart beat faster and faster as he watched his father and Rookwood walk into the center of the Entrance Hall.

Draco’s father looked sallow, pale. More so than any other time in his life. He gathered there had been no sunlight in Azkaban.

“Show me, then, Rookwood. I have other things to do tonight,” Lucius drawled. Draco was surprised to find so many similarities between himself with his father. The way he spoke. The way he walked.

Lucius and Rookwood passed Charlie and Katie, but failed to spot them. Charli and Katie followed the men with their gaze and their wands.

Backup would be there shortly, Draco thought. It had to be.

Except the men were headed for the door of the Room of Dreams. Draco raised his wand but he heard a small voice in his comms. It was Harry, whispering.

“Stand down,” he said. “We need the information.”

Draco didn’t want to. He wanted to blast his father against a wall, Rookwood too.

He wanted revenge. Or an apology. Or both. He wanted something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Both men pushed the door of the Room of Dreams open and left it ajar. Draco crept out of the Death Chamber and stood against the door to listen.

Charlie and Katie approached, flanking Draco on each side, wands pointed. “Harry’s mad,” Katie whispered, and Draco could sense her fear, she was close enough that he could feel her goosebumps, skin prickling skin. Draco nodded in agreement. Potter was bonkers, insane, and yet…

Rookwood’s voice was the first one. “We designed the nightmare with the information we could gather. Of course, it is not as elaborate as a real one would be, but it is preferable… we can control the simulation.”

Lucius gazed into the pensieve that Rookwood had pointed at. “And it is effective, on both of them.”

“Yes.” Rookwood’s voice seemed to smile. “We tested it.”

Lucius seemed satisfied. “Now if only your Aurors could manage to catch them. They are only boys.”

“Aurors seem to be ineffective without proper guidance, and do not work well under the Imperius curse. We are exploring other avenues.” Rookwood did smile this time. “I was thinking Dementors.”

“I do not want them dead, I want them mine. Under my control. Dementors may work but they do go… off script, at times.”

“Yes. We’ll do better next time.”

“Good.”

Lucius turned to the door and sniffed. “Anyone else working late?” he asked.

Rookwood shook his head. “All the bees are on Level 1.”

Hermione’s voice softly rang in Draco’s ear. “Backup. Now.”

Charlie kicked the door in and Draco found himself face to face, wand to wand with his father. Harry had his own wand trained on Lucius’ back.

But instead of fear, Lucius’ smile widened to a toothy grin. “My son,” he said, softly, pointing one long finger at him.

And then Draco’s world went black.

/ / / / / / /

Mayhem ensued.

Draco crumpled to the ground, unbidden, and none of them could understand why. Rookwood was hit with a stunner from Katie, and Charlie held his wand against Lucius Malfoy’s temple. “Don’t move.”

But Lucius didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry to move.

Soft pops exploded all around them, men and women, Ministry workers, summoned silently by Rookwood. Katie got behind a column. Harry and Hermione threw stunners and disarming spells left and right. Charlie kept his wand on Lucius but was soon surrounded.

“BACKUP NOW,” Harry called into his earpiece.

With a loud crack, George appeared at their side, followed by Bill. “Your dad?” Harry asked.

“Ron’s got dad and Kingsley. Him and Fleur had to stun and petrify them, they were struggling to apparate in here.”

Lee Jordan, Ginny and Neville cracked in after them, followed by a melodious pop that gave them Luna. “Fancy meeting you all here again,” Luna said. She looked over at the ground where Draco lay and shook her head. “That’s not right.”

She apparated beside Draco, and then disapparated from the room completely. “Atrium,” Luna’s voice rang out over the Comms.

Hermione grabbed Rookwood and disapparated. Harry stunned Lucius Malfoy, missing Charlie by an inch. “Cheers,” Charlie said, disapparating them both.

Harry and the rest followed, to the Atrium.

But Rookwood proved to be a magnet for the wizards under Imperius. They popped back to the Atrium and followed. Rookwood was coming out of his confusion and reached for his wand. Hermione kicked his hand and the wand clattered down to the central Ministry statue. The elves of the statue were, still, holding up the Wizards on their backs. The wand rested next to an elf’s foot.

Hermione seemed infuriated by this. She threw a hex at Rookwood, who started to swat at the invisible spiders inching up and down his back. He tried to ignore it and crawled towards his wand. Hermione started to follow, but felt a ray of light hit her and she fell to the floor.

“Hermione!” Harry screamed, running to her, his wand throwing out curses, left right and center, hitting anything and anyone in his path.

Luna had managed to rennervate Draco and up they went, running to Harry’s side. Luna kneeled by Hermione and checked her through. She was regaining consciousness. “She’ll be fine, go.”

Draco and Harry made their way through the crowd of zombie Ministry Workers to Charlie. Lucius had gotten free and was battling Charlie hex for hex. “Father, stop!” Draco called.

Lucius did not stop, but the second it took for him to get distracted was enough for Harry to yell, “Expelliarmus” at him and free him of his wand.

He caught the wand mid-air and realized immediately it had been a mistake. Because now Lucius had his free hands around Charlie’s neck and was attempting to choke him. Harry dropped the wand, running to free Charlie from Lucius’ grip. But Ginny was faster.

Ginny ran up behind Lucius and clawed at his eyes with her bare hands. Lucius let go of Charlie. The man shook off the girl in seconds, throwing Ginny against the nearby wall. The ministry workers were gaining on them, hundreds of them, trying to get to them, clawing each other for access.

And then, all of a sudden, the elevator doors opened.

A unicorn galloped in, its horn catching on a man that was attempting to hex George’s other ear off. A hippogriff flew low, grabbing a woman in pink robes and tossing her aside.

Two rogue Bludgers left Alicia and Cho’s hands and found heads to bash.

Parvati and Padma rode on twin thestrals, their wands throwing stunners at the witches and wizards they encountered.

Neville popped in, blowing a strange powder in the faces of four ministry officials and sending them straight to sleep.

Draco attempted to follow Lucius through the crowd, his arm bleeding from a nasty hex thrown at him, fighting off the ministry wizards that attempted to stop him. Draco kicked, Draco punched. He kept his wand up, on his father.

“Sectumsempra!” he screamed, his wand extended to Lucius. But nothing happened.

Lucius laughed. “You have to mean it boy,” he yelled back, walking down through the crowd as if there was no one there, floating between the fighting bodies.

“Rookwood’s wand,” Hermione yelled, held up by a tall man in purple robes who she was effectively clawing at. The man had no wand, but he was large and overpowered her strength.

You can take the girl out of Quidditch, but you can’t take Quidditch out of the girl. Katie slid across the floor to the wand and tossed it to Cho, who in turn tossed it to Harry, who grabbed it. And without a moment’s notice, Harry snapped the wand in two.

All the witches and wizards from the Ministry that had been fighting tooth, nail and curse just dropped to the ground, as if they’d simultaneously fainted.

Left standing were Rookwood and Lucius Malfoy. And somehow Lucius now had his wand again.

Hermione pointed her wand at Rookwood. “Petrificus Totalus,” she said, as Katie pointed her own wand at the man as well, saying “Stupefy.”

He fell to the floor like a slab of concrete.

Draco was still attempting to curse his own father but failing. One curse after the other, but it was pointless. Hot tears stung Draco’s eyes.

Lucius turned to him and smiled. “You were always so soft.” He placed his wand in his pocket and, pointing one long finger at him instead of a wand, said, “Crucio.”

Draco dropped to the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

Harry pointed his wand at Lucius and yelled “Stupefy!” but he was too late.

Lucius disappeared in a puff of black smoke and Harry’s curse hit the wall behind him, while Draco writhed on the floor.

/ / / / / / / /

When Draco came to, he was surrounded by Gryffindors.

There were a couple of Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs too, but mostly Gryffindors.

“A flock of Gryffindor’s,” he whispered, coughing and trying to get back up.

Harry smiled in relief and pushed him back down. “A pride of Gryffindors,” he corrected.

“Screw you, Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco squinted up at the worried faces around him. “I’m not going to die surrounded by you lot, so you can bloody well let me up and go away.”

“He’s fine, give him some breathing room,” Hermione’s voice called from a short distance. The crowd parted and Draco could see he was… in a hospital? No, not a hospital.

This was the Ministry Atrium but it was filled to the brim with hospital beds. “If you can’t take the wizards to St. Mungo’s…” George explained off-hand. “You bring St. Mungo’s to the wizards. Or, well, Hermione does.”

On every bed, a Ministry official or worker was being tended to by one of their group. Parvati and Padma fixed small cuts, Neville and Hannah dispensed grasses and weeds. Ginny gave everyone who looked peaky a bit of pepper-up potion. Luna smiled wisely and pointed out bruises no one had seen. Dennis Creevey did triage.

On the bed to one side of Draco lay Kingsley Shacklebolt, his arms bruised with rope markings. Draco gathered Ron and Oliver had caused them trying to avoid Kingsley joining the fight below. On his right rested Arthur Weasley, looking dazed but otherwise unharmed. Ron sat beside him, explaining everything as best he could.

And tied to the great statue in the center of the room, as if he were another house-elf, rested Rookwood.

“We couldn’t catch Lucius, mate,” Harry said, sitting beside him.

“Good chance of catching him if I keep fainting when I see him.”

“He did wandless spells. I think he might have done a silent one there, too.” Harry explained. “You should rest.”

“Everyone’s ok?” Draco asked, looking around the room. His eyes landed on Katie Bell who looked at him with a slight smile. Then on Hermione, who was fixing a broken bone a few beds away.

“Except for a couple of rope burns on Neville’s hand from trying to catch a unicorn, we’re all in one piece,” Harry said. He looked at Draco and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“What are we going to do about Rookwood?” Draco asked, pointing to the man waking against the statue.

He didn’t have to wait for an answer. Percy, who was passing by, stunned Rookwood.

A few minutes later, Angelina stunned him on her way to help Hagrid wrangle a stray hippogriff.

Harry smiled. “We’re going to interrogate him. Later, when you’re feeling better.”

“I feel fine,” Draco countered, but felt a hand pushing him back down.

It was Katie Bell. “You either stay still or I’m getting Cho with her Bludger back in here.”

Draco nodded, his mouth dry. He couldn’t think of a comeback.

“Draco Malfoy speechless. Never thought I’d see the day,” Hermione commented, walking by and brushing Harry’s back with his hand.

Harry looked up at Hermione, then back at Draco. “Enjoy it while it lasts. It probably won’t be long.”

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

Kingsley and Arthur sat in a cot next to one another, facing Draco and Harry and Hermione, who attempted to explain everything that had gone on to the best of their abilities.

The best of their abilities was not very good.

“What day is it?” Kingsley asked, confused.

“Saturday. It was Easter last week.” Harry said.

“The last thing I remember is… Valentine’s day,” Kingsley admitted.

Hermione looked confused. “So when you were in St. Mungo’s… why were you there?”

“We were sent because of the dementors but I don’t remember much else.”

“And when I talked to Arthur…”

“I was already under Imperious,” Arthur said. “I sent the Aurors after you. I am so sorry.” Arthur lowered his head to his hands. “To think of the risk I put you in.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Draco said. “It was all Rookwood.”

“There’s no way he did this alone. And Lucius hasn’t been in the Ministry before tonight,” Kingsley said. “Or at least I don’t think he was. It’s very hard to grasp any memories.”

“The rest of the Ministry… the Aurors, the other departments?” Hermione asked. “The protective charms were weak enough that we were able to enter undetected. There has to be something else going on.”

“You say you were on Azkaban Island…” Kingsley started.

Hermione threw a hand up in the air. “Yes. You know, Luna,” she said, as a way of explaining. “It was empty. No dementors. No screams. Clear dark skies.”

“You need to strengthen the Ministry,” Draco whispered. No one quite heard him. “You need to strengthen the Ministry,” Draco repeated. “Maybe you need to move it, move buildings. Check everyone, suspect everyone. Hell, maybe Harry isn’t Harry. Who the fuck knows?”

“Draco…” Hermione started, but thought better of it. “This building isn’t safe anymore… Draco is right. We’re barely out of diapers and we stormed this place. You were supposed to be weeding out the Ministry and we found it overrun by a Death Eater and a half. Where are the other Death Eaters? Where are the Dementors? Why can Lucius Malfoy now do wandless magic with such strength?”

Kingsley looked from Hermione to Draco to Harry. His eyes lowered. “I am truly sorry. I don’t know what happened or how. But we will fix this.”

Harry looked over at Rookwood then back at Kingsley. “I need to question Rookwood. I need Veritaserum. And…”

Draco interrupted. “And we need your best man from the Room of Dreams at the Department of Mysteries.”

Hermione looked at Draco curiously.

Draco shrugged. “Rookwood and … my father… they were talking about something down there. Something that sounded like a plan to off Harry here.”

“Ah, yes. Well our best man… That would be no man,” Kingsley said. “You need Adora Perkins. That’s her in the green robes.” Kingsley pointed at a younger woman lying a few cots away, getting her hand bandaged up by Hannah. “Give her a couple more hours so the effects of the Imperius Curse wear off. Then you can have a free reign.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll get you the Veritaserum.”

“And I need to question the Aurors,” Hermione said, taking advantage of the giving mood. “All of them. I need to know more about their operations under the Imperius.”

Kingsley sighed, nodded forcefully. “Anything you need.”

/ / / / / /

There was a room, not unlike the interrogation rooms Harry had seen in police films, late at night, when no one could see him at the Dursley’s and he’d turn on the telly and watch whatever was on.

The room had one glass window that looked like a mirror, and three solid walls. One door.

Draco and Harry sat at the table in the center of the room, opposite Rookwood. Rookwood, who’d just been force-fed Veritaserum. Rookwood, who sat very still.

Harry thought he’d take lead, but Draco had other ideas.

“What does Lucius want?”

“Harry Potter.” Rookwood answered. “And his son.”

“Why? What for?” Draco insisted.

Rookwood turned his head, eyes glassy, towards the mirrored wall. “To have a full set.”

“A full set?”

“Did you not feel the call?” Rookwood’s smile widened. “He will rise. We are called.”

Draco snorted. “I felt a dull itch.”

Harry redirected the questions. “Who’s in charge?”

“Lucius,” Rookwood answered.

“What was the plan?” Harry pressed.

“We take the Ministry. We find Potter and the Son. We take them to our side. We control them. We control everything.”

“What do you control?” Draco pushed.

“If we have the hero we control the world. If Lucius has Draco he controls succession. We get the Wizengamot. The world is fractured, the Ministry is so easy. I start with one wizard, then another. Soon they all march to the beat of my drum.”

Harry slammed a fist on the table. “STOP BABBLING!” he exclaimed, his voice full of anger.

“This is the plan. We get Harry Potter. We get the Malfoy Boy. We get the Ministry. Potter the Puppet. We make you forgive Draco. We make you declare new allegiances. We make you work for us.” Rookwood slid down on the chair, a half-slump. “Then we can bring back the Dark Lord. Then we have our way.”

Draco shakes his head. The fractured plan that Rookwood mapped out made no sense. At the same time it made all the sense in the world. Draco’s head threatened to explode.

“Did you do all the Imperius Curses on the Ministry?” Harry asked. He already knew the answer. Every last person had collapsed around him when he’d snapped the wand.

“Yes, bit problematic, really,” Rookwood said. “Keeping them all under, some started to act funny. Would walk into walls and such.”

“Why did you do it?”

“It was the Dark Lord’s will,” Rookwood answered, matter-of-factly.

Draco leaned in closer. “And who told you it was his will?”

“Lucius Malfoy. He is the Favorite.”

Draco let that sit for a minute. The Favorite. “Where are all the others?” he asked. “The rest who escaped Azkaban.”

“Other Ministries. Other territories. The United Kingdom is small, isn’t it? Just a step in a long path.” Rookwood looked almost confused that they had not seen that, that they hadn’t figured it out. “The world is not so large and we are many.”

/ / / / / / / /

Hermione was waiting on the other side of the mirror/window, sipping lukewarm tea.

“He’s under Imperius,” she said, simply.

Harry nodded. “He’s of no use. His mind is addled. His Imperius curses started to go awry because he didn’t have complete control of himself… doesn’t.”

Harry pulled Hermione into a hug, his chin resting on her hair.

“Please don’t do anything… squishy,” Draco pleaded.

Hermione turned to see him. “Do you want a hug, too?”

“Don’t test me, Granger.”

She smiled at Draco, her eyes tired. “One more stop, right?”

“Are you done with the Aurors?” Harry asked. He had hoped to go to the Room of Dreams without her.

“Kingsley called them all in. They were all dazed and… confused. There’s one that’s still walking into walls. He’s been sent to St. Mungo’s.”

Draco paced a bit. “We need to figure out that dream thing. And where dear dad’s gone.”

“Let’s go meet Adora Perkins, then,” Harry said.

/ / / / / / /

Adora Perkins was a slight witch in her thirties who wore square glasses with dark green rims. Hermione thought she looked like she’d be at home in a chemistry lab or doing work in front of a computer. She rubbed her hands nervously and smiled at Harry as he walked to meet her in the center of the Entrance Hall to the Department of Mysteries.

“Mr. Potter, so nice to meet you, I’m a huge fan.”

Harry blushed a bright shade of pink.

She had an American accent and talked much too fast. Hermione took an immediate liking to her.

“We have a few questions about your work here in the Room of Dreams. And we know you’re an unspeakable but… well… we need you to break your vow. I believe Kingsley already spoke to you,” Harry explained.

“Certainly,” she said, giving a curt nod. “To be honest, I’ve always been crap at keeping quiet. I guess that’s why they keep me down here, you know… It’s a job nobody really likes.”

“Why’s that?” Hermione asked, curious. She noticed Draco kept very quiet.

Adora led them into the Room of Dreams and once inside she closed the door with a soft click. “Well, dreams are an imprecise science. I’m sorry, my parents are noMajs, you know, Muggles, my dad’s a scientist. That’s his way of wording things… Anyway… Right… Dreams are part of the Intangibles. For example… I believe Mr. Malfoy here took a few files from our cabinets. Could you open them and read from them?”

Draco didn’t blush or seem at all embarrassed by this. He took out one of the files from his cloak and opened it.

The information he’d previously read there was gone, replaced by gibberish, numbers and letters that made no words.

“Yes, you see… Our files here work like dreams do. Some are almost solid, and may remain so when they leave the room. Others fade away to faint memory. Some disappear, some become jumbled.” She smiled spreading her hands to the cabinets that surrounded her.

Harry seemed to grasp what she was saying, but the concepts also threatened to slip away. “What do you focus on? I mean, what does this part of the department actually do?”

“That’s simple. We are tasked with the determination of if we are, in fact, living in a dream, and the solution to that.”

At this, Draco narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Well… There is a sixty-percent chance that this is a dream. Those are the latest calculations. It fluctuates.” Adora tapped the top of a desk. “You see this, you can touch it, it’s solid. It smells like mahogany. If I licked it, it might taste like the coffee I spilled yesterday. I can knock on it and hear it. You say: A-ha! Reality!” She widened her stance triumphantly, then pauses. “But haven’t you ever had a dream so vivid that you could taste it?”

Draco swallowed, hard, but nodded. Harry was finding his shoes most interesting.

Adora seemed enthralled with her line of work, which made Hermione like her even more. “We work on dream defragmentation.” Adora continued. “Or reality defragmentation, if you wish. We start from the premise that we are indeed inside the dream. Therefore, we need to figure out how to wake.”

Harry gripped the edge of the desk Adora was standing behind. “What about dreams inside of dreams? If there’s a sixty-percent chance that we’re dreaming but we also remember dreaming… Can we dream if we’re inside the dream?”

“Oh, yes! Those are the best dreams. Those help you understand.” Adora almost clapped her hands in giddiness. “Take a moment to think back to a dream inside of a dream. How do you know you’re still dreaming? Something is always just a little off. Something is always… out of place or out of time.”

“I think I need to sit down,” Draco said.

Adora conjured up a chair and smiled. “Can you imagine if Magic only existed because we are dreaming? Sixty-percent chance,” Adora said, proudly, her voice a sing-song.

Hermione moved to tighten her grip on Harry’s hand. “We overheard Lucius Malfoy and Rookwood. They were talking about a dream simulation. It was in that pensieve, there.”

“That’s not a pensieve. I see what you mean, though.” Adora breached the space between herself and the large bowl of liquid. “If the Room of Dreams is a laboratory for imprecise science, then Dream Design is an imprecise art. A designed dream will always feel off. It will always cause a sense of dread. It will always be incomplete. And as such it is easier to manipulate, when you know what to look for. Time will stretch on or go by unusually fast. The place will be underdecorated or overdecorated. Sometimes, everything works out just a little too well. Everything you need, you find right when you need it. Too much… serendipity.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “Why would anyone want to make a dream?”

“If you don’t know a dream is a dream, you may stay there forever. Like being locked in a cage with invisible bars. If you do not know you are a prisoner, why would you ever try to escape?” Adora touched the tip of her finger to the non-pensieve and looked puzzled. “This is very rudimentary but dangerous. I think… I think this Lucius Malfoy means you harm.”

Hermione looked at Adora for a minute and finally saw what was so familiar about her. “Are you in any case related to Sybill Trelawney?”

Adora nodded. “Oh, yes, she’s my maternal aunt. Kind of a kooky woman, isn’t she? Divination is such a wooly subject.”

Hermione glanced from Harry to Draco, who both seemed convinced everything about this room was a wooly subject, but they were sharing conspiratorial looks between them, and Hermione knew there was something they’d been hiding from her.

She thanked Adora and dragged them both out of the room and to the lifts.

On their way to the Atrium, she turned to both of them and sighed. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on,” she declared, her hands on her hips, knuckles firm. Harry and Draco avoided looking at each other and that was all Hermione needed as proof. “Now.” 

/ / / / / / / /

They hadn’t slept all day, and Hermione was noticeably both angry and tired. Somehow Harry had convinced her that whatever story they needed to tell her would benefit from being told after eating something.

They also had to see the DA off to 12 Grimmauld Place or to wherever they needed to be. The Ministry officials were being discharged from their cots at the temporary hospital Hermione had created.

The Weasley’s fixed Portkeys for everyone and they decided to disband. Luna and Neville would go back to 12 Grimmauld place with them. So would Katie Bell, Dean and Seamus, Lee Jordan, Parvati and Padma. The rest would scatter to their respective homes or go back to Hogwarts.

The Weasley’s would take Arthur and Kingsley to The Burrow.

“Keep the coins close,” Hermione warned everyone. “This isn’t over. If you need us, use the coins to summon us.”

As everyone disappeared, Harry felt a sense of loss. They’d held together, they’d all survived the night. Seeing everyone disband was almost disheartening.

As he took hold of Hermione’s hand and then the Portkey, out of the corner of his eye, he could see a rogue unicorn galloping between the beds of the makeshift hospital, towards the front doors of the Ministry, a white and silver violation of the Statute of Secrecy just waiting to happen.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about to try and earn my rating here. Hope you enjoy it. (Also, this is a more character-driven chapter, with much less action, which I hope works).

New room arrangements were made at 12 Grimmauld place, now that they had much-needed space.

Draco got the couch, not that he was going to sleep much, but he enjoyed not having to share.

After everyone had eaten, Katie had declared it was Malfoy’s turn to do the dishes and he’d acquiesced. She was starting to get on his nerves, but he didn’t really know how to explain it with words, so he just groaned and said yes to everything she asked. He was almost done with the washing up when she arrived with a pile of dirty dishes he had not seen on the table.

In the end she stayed behind and dried the dishes while Draco finished the wash. They worked side by side in silence and Draco wondered if he should try to apologize again, but a raised eyebrow from her as he started to open his mouth told him it was a bad idea. Silence it would be.

When she left, she gave him a lopsided smile. He took that as a momentary win.

He dreaded having to face Hermione, however, and was almost glad he wouldn’t be getting the biggest earful. He knew damn well that Harry hadn’t told her about the dreams and he would have to bear the brunt of her anger.

He waited for Harry and Hermione on the sofa, fiddling with the Tamagotchi. The screen had cracked a bit during his fall, during the Cruciatus, but it was still working. He smiled at the toy, and at the knowledge that Arthur Weasley would sleep well that night, at home, with his family. His muscles ached and his bones felt stiff, but he felt serene as he raised his eyes and saw Harry and Hermione finally walk into the room.

Hermione’s hair was wrapped in what looked like a t-shirt that was getting soaked through. Harry walked behind her, sheepishly, his hands in the pockets of his pyjama trousers.

“Alright,” Hermione said, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Sit there and tell me everything.” Her hair dripped on the back of the couch.

Harry sat next to Draco, lambs to the slaughter. Neither knew exactly how to begin.

“Any minute now,” Hermione said, impatient.

Harry sighed. “We’ve kind of been sharing dreams?” he said, though it came out as more of a question. He spread his fingers as if that would make for a better explanation.

“Sharing dreams,” Hermione repeated.

“More like sharing nightmares,” Draco said. Harry elbowed him with wide eyes. “What? It’s more accurate,” Draco countered, annoyed.

“Sharing nightmares.” Hermione held one hand up to her forehead and took a deep breath. “Ok. Go on.”

“In these nightmares we battle a giant snake. It eats our hearts. We never seem to beat it,” Harry explained.

“At first it was both of us just having the same dream. Then we started to… meet in the dream?” Draco offered. “I guess that’s how I would explain it. We’re both in the dream. And then we wake up but we don’t because it’s a dream inside a dream and we wear each other’s faces.”

Hermione opened her eyes. “You are a couple of idiots,” she said, patiently. “You should have told me, before. I could have researched. I could have asked Adora better questions. I could have… You should have told me, Harry.” Draco suddenly felt like an intruder.

“Didn’t want to worry you.” Harry played with the frayed edge of his trousers, not daring to look up at Hermione.

“Right.” Hermione stood. “Like I’ve ever stopped worrying about you for a single second since I met you.”

“That’s what I mean,” he countered. “It’s not okay for you to have to live like that.”

She took one shaky, furious breath. “Fine. I think you should sleep with Draco tonight. Seeing as you two share so much that you don’t want to worry me with.”

And she stood and turned on her heel, up the stairs. Stomping feet, then the door slammed shut behind her.

Harry stared at the empty space she’d left behind.

Draco rubbed his eyes. “You should probably go see about that,” he said, laying back on the sofa. “I am not sharing the sofa, you big git.”

“Yes, right,” Harry said. He bounded up the stairs, guiltily.

/ / / / / / / /

Hermione sat on the bed; her knees drawn up to her chest.

She was angry. She was jealous. She was upset.

She wanted to kick Harry.

And Draco.

Mostly Harry.

A soft knock. “Hermione,” Harry’s voice said, softly, just loud enough to carry through the door.

She wasn’t going to answer. She wasn’t going to answer. She wasn’t going to… She sighed. “Come in,” she said.

Harry walked half a step in, closed the door behind him, and leaned against the door, keeping as much distance as he could between himself and the bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He looked at the floor.

She looked at his knees.

“Why?” she asked, after a long silence.

“For not telling you before.” He looked up then, trying to sort out what Hermione needed to hear.

Hermione sighed. “No. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Harry looked down at his socks. “I didn’t want you to think I was damaged,” he said slowly, the explanation drawn out, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. “I didn’t want you to think I needed fixing or that I wasn’t ok.”

“Are you ok? Do you need fixing?” Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Because I do. We all do. I go to classes and pretend everything is better now, but it’s not. We rebuilt Hogwarts but there’s stones missing still, entire corridors that we’ll never walk through again. And I’m like that inside, too. I probably won’t ever be able to get my parents back. I won’t be able to walk down a street without being scared someone’s behind me, following me, ready to hurt me. I was more comfortable fighting yesterday than I’ve been in potions lessons this entire year.” Hermione’s hand slammed against her heart, again and again. “ _I’m_ broken, _I’m_ damaged. But I thought, ' _at least I’m not alone anymore_.'” She looked into Harry’s eyes, tears pooling in her own. “Was I wrong?

Harry breached the space between them in two long steps. He knelt in front of her and took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips. He kissed her closed fist. “I thought you wouldn’t want me if you knew,” he whispered. “I thought you’d think it was more trouble, endless trouble.”

“You are trouble, all right,” Hermione said softly, half a laugh on her lips.

He looked into her eyes, his voice shaking.

“The dreams, they’re so solid, Hermione. Every time I go to sleep, I think I won’t wake up, that I’ll be trapped there forever. And what this woman told us at the ministry… I’m scared. I’m scared that maybe this is the dream,” he said. “What if I wake up from this and I never find you again? What if I never get you back?”

Hermione kissed his forehead, right beside his scar. “I always come back,” she whispered. “Don’t you know that?”

He kissed her softly, his lips finding comfort in hers. “You are not alone anymore. You will never be alone anymore.” He sighed against her, their noses touching. “I would be lost without you. I would be dead without you.”

“You’d have failed potions without me,” Hermione added.

“I love you,” he said. It was the first time he’d said it to her while she was decidedly awake, and it felt solid. Real.

She closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him again, deeper and fuller. His hands tangled in her hair, under the cloth covering her curls. He pulled it off and her curls sprang free, still dripping. “I love you,” she whispered into his lips. “And if you ever lie to me again, I will burn you at the stake.”

He laughed, soft puffs of air on her face. “I will accept any and all punishment.”

“As well you should.”

He breathed in the air she let out and for a moment he thought she would pull away. Instead, she raised an eyebrow. “This connection with Malfoy only happens in your dreams, yes?” she asked.

Harry nodded, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “Yeah. Why?”

Hermione shrugged. “I just really don’t want him to see what happens next,” she said, pulling Harry up on the bed and laying down. He rested on top of her, holding his weight up on his elbows so as not to crush her.

“And what happens next?” Harry asked.

Hermione silenced him with a kiss that explained exactly what would happen next.

/ / / / / / / /

Ragged breath. His calloused hands on her soft brown skin. His lips everywhere.

The light of the bluebell flame on the bedside table, soft and ever present.

He’d remember this, later: seeing her undress, slowly, with a shyness he hadn’t expected. At every turn her eyes asked, is this ok? Do you like it? But she did not ask out loud, so he answered in silence, his fingers skimming the newly revealed skin. He’d remember the feeling of her nipples hardening in his mouth. The way she shivered when he ran his fingers along her spine.

He’d remember the sound of her moans, slowly building so that he’d had to cast a silencing spell over the room. He’d remember every inch of her responding to him, her voice guiding him, asking for more, for there, saying yes and don’t stop and fuck and yes again.

He trapped every moment in his mind, memorizing it.

The way her eyes flew open when he touched her there, right there, his knuckles brushing against her wet knickers. He took them off slowly, dragging them down her skin, soft kisses on her knees, his hand parting her legs. She sighed, her eyelids fluttering as his mouth breached the distance between her knees and her center one inch at a time.

“Harry,” she whispered, impatiently. He would remember that, too. And the gasp, when he finally reached her cunt and dragged his tongue along her slit, hot and ready. She moaned and pulled at his hair. She moved against him, teaching him what she liked, what she wanted.

He would remember the way she tasted, cloying and spicy, like figs and dates melting in his mouth.

Her back arched and he thought he’d never enjoyed control like this, and felt himself grow harder, impossibly harder, with every mewling cry. “Please,” she purred, “Please, please, I’m so close, please.”

He slipped one finger inside her, then another, his tongue flicking out again, and again, until she cried out, her legs tensing around him, her hands grabbing hold of the sheets around her. Her face turned to the pillow, beads of sweat on her forehead.

He kissed his way up her body, her curvy hips, her belly, soft kisses on her nipples as she shuddered. He reached her lips and she could taste herself in his mouth. She could feel him hard against her through the fabric of his trousers.

“Mmmm…” she breathed against his neck, her hand reaching down to touch him.

“You are perfect,” he whispered, and she shivered at his breath against his neck. She seemed slightly embarrassed by the abandon with which she’d moaned, her cheeks reddening.

“Harry, you’re wearing far too many clothes,” she answered, her hand slipping under the waistband of his trousers.

He groaned at the feeling of her hand touching him, closing around him and moving slowly up and down his length. “I… I don’t have…”

“My bag,” she said. Harry stood and looked around the room for the bag. “On the dresser,” Hermione said, impatient. He handed it to her, a quizzical look on his face.

Harry raised an eyebrow as she rifled through it and came up with a box of condoms. “You have condoms in your bag?”

“I have a bloody car in my bag, how is this surprising?” she asked. He watched her with a bit of distance now, her hair a mess, the pillow wet, her body soft and ready. She sat up and pulled Harry’s trousers and underwear down in one fell swoop.

His cock stood in attention, hard and smooth. Hermione handed Harry the condom, and touched him softly while she waited for him to sheath himself. He nervously ripped the packaged as Hermione’s hand moved up and down his cock, slow torture.

“Hermione…” he said softly, almost chastising. “If you don’t leave that be, this…” he indicated the package. “Will be pointless.”

She pouted up at him playfully. “Next time,” she said.

He rolled on the condom and nodded. “Next time.”

He kissed her deeply as she lay on her back, her legs open and welcoming. He looked into her eyes for confirmation that it was ok, that this was what she wanted, and she nodded quickly. He touched her softly before entering her slowly.

He was aware that it wasn’t the first time for either of them, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everything was new and unexplored. He pulled her hips to him and moved tentatively at first. He tested their pace with as much restraint as he could muster, which was evidently not much. He muttered ‘fuck’ and bit down hard on his lower lip as she pressed her hands on his arse and brought him closer, deeper. “More,” she whimpered.

He would remember that too, and the way he’d swept his fingers between them to touch her clit firmly, to bring her closer, closer, closer, until her body shook and she moaned deeply in completion.

He followed soon after, his orgasm hard and fast, his mind swirling as she held on to his shoulders. He collapsed on top of her, his elbows supporting him partially. She laughed at his disheveled hair, at his awkward disposal of the condom, at his walk back from the bathroom wearing nothing but mismatched socks.

She would remember the sex, of course. She would remember his glasses slipping off his nose as he came, she would remember the taste of salty sweat on his shoulder as she kissed him. She would remember how he’d thanked her after coming, like she’d done him some favor. She’d remember the feeling of his mouth on her breasts, his tongue on her cunt, the way he’d brushed away stray hairs from her eyes.

She’d remember how he fell asleep holding her, naked and solid and warm, her own personal thermal blanket, kissing the back of her neck and whispering nonsense into her ear.

She’d remember how her hair was a complete mess and would now be so for days on end.

She’d remember the feeling of his hand resting on her breast as if that was the way all people in love must sleep, holding on, holding close.

She’d remember feeling safe enough to fall asleep, pulling the covers over their little two-person army.

She’d remember being happy.

And hoping against hope that this was not the dream.

/ / / / / / / / /

Harry woke to find himself staring straight into the violet eyes of Luna Lovegood. “Oh, good, you’re awake.”

Harry shook his head, disconcerted, and very aware of his state of undress under the covers.

Hermione wasn’t anywhere in sight. Luna took a seat in the bed, her back to Harry. Harry wondered if summoning his clothes would be too obvious.

“Uh… Luna… what are you…”

“Oh! They sent me up to call you for breakfast. But you sleep very deeply.”

Harry nodded. “Uhm… I need to get dressed.”

“I don’t mind,” Luna said. “I wanted to ask you about the Room of Dreams.”

Harry decided that fighting Luna was going to take longer than following along. He summoned his boxers and pulled them on under the covers. It would just be faster. “What about it?”

“Hermione told me a bit about what you were told.” Luna was pensive, more than she usually was, she was trying to pull the right question out of thin air. “Do you think this is the dream?”

“Why do you ask?” Harry fumbled around for a t-shirt. Luna picked it off the floor and handed it to him.

“Do you think it’s just been the last few days that’s the dream? Or maybe everything? Like from when we were kids?” Luna asked.

Harry sat up straight and rested a hand on Luna’s shoulder. “It hasn’t been that long, since we were kids.”

Luna shrugged. “I know. I just wondered, if this is all a dream and I’m a puppet to move the plot along, maybe my mum isn’t dead.”

Harry’s heart sunk to his stomach. Luna had a way with words, she could transfigure them into bullets. “I don’t know Luna. It doesn’t feel like a dream, to me.”

Luna wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She turned to face a semi-clothed Harry and handed him his glasses from a bedside table. “If this is a dream, and you do wake up, will you tell me all about it?”

“Why?”

She smiled softly. “I think I’ve done some pretty bad-ass things these past few days, it would be nice to be reminded of my own competence.”

Harry laughed. “If this is a dream, and I wake up, I will find you and tell you everything. I promise.”

“Good.” She patted the bed. “You should come down to breakfast. Maybe do something with your hair, though, so everyone doesn’t figure out you had sex with Hermione last night.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief and, as soon as Luna left the room, ran to the bathroom to wash his face and attempt to fix his hair.

/ / / / / / / / /

By the time Harry made it downstairs, the rest of the group was almost done with breakfast. Draco set a cup of tea in front of Harry and Katie and Neville pushed food at him, bangers and porridge and eggs. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s in the library,” Draco said, watching Harry nervously look around the room. “Said she needed to do some research. Although what she could find in this library aside from ‘Pure Families in Times of Impurity’, I do not know.”

Harry nodded. He ate quickly, wanting to go and find Hermione.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Neville asked.

Draco elbowed a very distracted Harry, who did his best to chew and swallow. “The plan?” he asked, his mouth still half-full.

“Yes, the plan, Potter,” Draco said. “The thing that tells us the next hare-brained step in our series of unfortunate decisions.”

Harry blinked.

“There is a plan, right?” Katie asked. “Because the whole Zombie Ministry thing was not the way I like my government run.”

“Don’t be silly,” Luna said. “There’s only zombies in America.”

Katie decided to ignore that. “Do we fight? Do we wait? Do we infiltrate something?” she asked excitedly. Padma and Parvati didn’t seem as keen on the whole fight angle.

“We fight, but not how you think,” Hermione’s voice came down the corridor. How she didn’t knock into a wall was anyone’s guess, because her nose was buried in a book. “Kingsley said to meet him for lunch.”

“All of us?” Draco asked. It would be crowded and rather odd for a grown man to be meeting a bunch of teenagers.

Hermione looked up from her book. “Padma, Parvati, and Dean should go back to Hogwarts, classes start back up tomorrow and we need eyes and ears there.” She pursed her lips. “Rookwood said there would be other places infiltrated, other ministries. We have to figure out where, when. The rest of you… it’s up to you.”

“I’ll stay,” Katie volunteered.

Lee and Seamus nodded as well.

Luna and Neville acted like nothing had been asked of them.

“What about your classes?” Harry asked Hermione. Skiving off school was not Hermione’s style.

“I already owled Professor McGonagall. What’s she going to do, expel me for missing a few days of school?” Hermione smiled. “I’ve got my own chocolate frog card, you know.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, she’d let you off the hook.”

“I interceded for Luna and Neville also. Had to make up a story there, but we should be ok,” Hermione added.

Draco pointed his mug to Hermione. “What have you got there?”

She held up the cover of the book which read _The Dream Realm and The Magical, an Intersectional Study_. “A bit of light reading,” she smirked. Harry dropped his toast.

/ / / / / / / / /

The house was substantially quieter after the others had left to catch the train. Lee helped ferry them to the train station, doing a couple of side-alongs that left him beat. Neville had taken to tending the garden and Luna had decided to transfigure a few more bills and risk getting incarcerated for dealing in counterfeit money, in exchange for buying food that could be cooked. Seamus decided that going with Luna would be the best course of action.

Hermione led Harry and Draco back to the library, which seemed to inconvenience Draco to no end, as Katie had been intent on bossing him around to doing the dishes again. Hermione was seeing a pattern.

Draco’s presence proved inconvenient for Harry as well. He wanted to talk to Hermione or not talk, maybe ask her, about the night before. Or maybe repeat the night before. Behind his eyes, an image of kissing Hermione against a stack of books flashed and made him shift uncomfortably in his chair. That would be an idea worth returning to. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but it kept fighting its way to the front as Hermione plopped down on the sofa beside him and crossed her legs. Absentmindedly she touched his arm and pointed to the book. She patted the other side of the sofa and made room for Draco.

“So, I don’t have a plan but…” Hermione took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what Adora Perkins told us yesterday. And I have a few ideas I wanted to share.”

Draco glanced back in the direction of the kitchen, but settled in. Harry saw this look, and gave Draco a “we should talk later” kind of look which Draco clearly did not understand. He mouthed a silent “What?” at Harry, who rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Hermione caught the exchanged and huffed.

“You should either develop telepathy or pass notes to each other,” Hermione said, impatient. “Really.”

“Sorry,” they both chorused.

She sighed. “It’s fine. I promise it’s not boring.” She closed the book. “Maybe it’s easier if I just tell you.”

“We’ll be good,” Draco promised. “Cross my heart.”

Hermione left the book resting on the small table at the center of the room. She looked at her hands as if finding something odd and new in them. “Adora said yesterday that dreams can be artificially designed. And that you can tell you are in a dream because some things are just a little too easy. And that got me thinking…” She turned to Harry. “Hasn’t everything seemed a little too easy? Luna apparated us to Azkaban Island. And yes, we’ve been through a couple of curses, but maybe that’s just synapses firing.”

Harry seemed confused. “You think this is a dream.”

Hermione shook her head. “No. Or at least, if it is, I don’t know to whom this dream belongs to.”

“It’s probably Potter’s dream,” Draco offered. “Too much action and adventure. I’d be on holiday, if this was my dream, drinking one of those cocktails that you set on fire.”

“Cheers,” Harry conceded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Whether this is a dream or not, I keep thinking back to something Adora said. She said that they ‘always start from the idea that they are indeed inside the dream’ and that the objective is to wake up.”

Harry watched her intently. She had that look that told him she was on to something.

“I think,” she ventured. “I think we ought to start looking at our problem from this perspective. Not like we’re in a dream precisely, although, sixty percent odds” She paused, then shook that idea away. “But like we’re being manipulated. Everything has been too easy. For starters, no one has died.”

“The whole Ollivander thing was suspect,” Draco admitted.

“And Lucius getting away. That Death Eater finding us on the train.” Hermione had evidently put some thought into it. “So if we’re being manipulated in some way, then whatever our next step would be, we should… double back and do the opposite.”

“What would our next step had been?” Harry asked. “I’m sorry, I can’t see past my nose today.”

Hermione smiled warmly, then blushed, wondering if it was her fault that Harry was distracted. “Uhm… we would tell Kingsley about the threat to the other Ministries. We would trust Kingsley and we would… We would have waited to see if he gets Lucius.”

“What would be the opposite of that?” Draco asked.

Hermione bit her lower lip. “To go against everything I believe in, cancel our meeting with Kingsley, and plan to storm Malfoy Manor.”

/ / / / / / / / /

If there was one thing Hermione was, above all else, was trustworthy. So when she said they should go against her instincts and trust her and do something entirely too stupid for words, both Draco and Harry decided to go along.

She seemed pleased with that, going off to find the others and to formulate a plan. Much to Harry and Draco’s chagrin, this left them to finish their silent discussion from before.

“So, Katie, huh?” Harry asked.

“What on earth are you going on about, Potter?”

“Oh, you know… the whole ‘Malfoy, do the dishes the Muggle way’ thing that’s been going on these last couple of days.”

Draco feigned ignorance. “You are delusional.”

“Sure.”

“It’s probably all the sex you’ve been having.”

Harry’s eyes widened, big green guilty saucers.

Draco gloated. “Knew it.”

“Please do not tell her I told you.”

“I would never,” Draco looked at him with mock-shock. “I value my balls, and Granger more than likely could hex them right off.”

“Good point.” Harry leaned back. “I’m not sure she liked it.”

“That may be bordering on too much information, Potter.”

“She was gone when I woke up,” Harry volunteered.

“How else was she going to read a…” Draco picked up the book and flipped through it. “A four-hundred- and fifty-six-page treatise on the dream plane and how it relates to magical beings?”

Harry pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “What if I ruined everything?”

“You can’t have been that bad. The mechanics are very straightforward,” Draco mused.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Harry glowered, then smiled slyly. “The mechanics? Do not tell me Draco Malfoy is a virgin.”

Draco huffed. “If you must know, I consider my body an unpolluted temple.”

“Pansy didn’t like what she saw?” Harry teased.

“Pansy does not enjoy male companions except for formal functions,” Draco confessed. “Besides, Pansy and I have known each other since we wore nappys. She was a violently angry baby and her temperament was not much improved with the passage of time.”

Harry didn’t want to laugh, so he just let his hand linger over his mouth. “So, then, Katie…”

Draco leaned back on his hands. “I tried to apologize and she basically told me to go fuck a hippogriff. But then she’s been… She tells me to do the dishes but then she’ll stay back and help me dry them. What does that even mean?” Draco seemed genuinely confused, and that amused Harry to no end. “Slytherin girls are much easier to deal with. They like gold, shiny things. Maybe a good ole muggle-bashing now and again. But no one ever enjoyed making me do the washing up.”

“I have no idea what that’s about either,” Harry recognized. “I’m not an expert on women, but if Hermione is an indicator of anything, it’s usually easier if I just ask her what’s going on.”

“That’s because you’re rather dim, Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry smiled. “Besides, if I’m so dim, how come you’re the one doing dishes and I’m the one that has a girl?”

“Because fate is a bastard.” Draco sighed. “If this is anyone’s dream, it is definitely yours.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

Harry wandered through the house, unsure of what to do next. Hermione handled things on Kingsley’s end, and gave the others tasks to get through, but had left Harry and Draco to their own devices. Harry liked Draco’s company in short spurts. Too much Draco was likely to give him a headache, and Draco seemed to concur.

He ended up in their very messy room. He waved his wand tidying up a bit, blushing at the sight of Hermione’s clothes strewn on the bed.

Harry started picking up and putting things away, getting their very odd life into some semblance of order. He picked his bookbag off the floor and remembered the presents inside.

One by one he laid them out on the freshly made bed, the wrapping paper contrasting with the sky-blue bedspread. He’d opened Molly’s days ago, as evidenced by his now-well-worn jumper.

There was one from Hermione, one from Ron, a small package from Hagrid and one from his aunt Petunia.

It felt strange to think about opening presents now, and he let the packages sit there for a moment. Then he had an idea.

A stupid idea: one for Hermione’s notebook.

“Hermione?” he called out from the top of the stairs.

Hermione poked her head out from the bottom of the stairs, her wand ready. “Is everything ok?”

“Yes! It’s just… I had an idea! Come, look!” he called.

Hermione walked up the stairs bemused and into their room. “This better not be a plan to get me alone.”

“I mean, that’d be nice too, but it wasn’t… “Harry stopped himself, blushed, started back up. “I thought about what you said, about Adora’s explanation of dream logic. I never opened these.” He showed Hermione the neat bundles of presents. “If what Adora said is right, then whatever these are, they should aid us in some way.”

“Extreme serendipity,” Hermione recalled. “Alright, open one. Just one. And let’s see where it leads us.”

Harry grabbed Hagrid’s present first. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and tore through the wrapping paper to find… a rock.

“Is that a…” Hermione started.

Harry looked at it more closely. “It’s a bezoar.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Morgana… who’s going to get poisoned now?”

/ / / / / / / /

Luna had declared that she was going to cook, and that Seamus was going to assist, and Hermione had decided that she was not going to put up a fight. In any case, they had a bezoar, which might prove useful if Luna did not succeed. The bezoar had been such a letdown that Harry felt that maybe their plan to cancel on Kingsley and go willy-nilly into Malfoy Manor was not properly thought out.

“So what’s the plan now?” Neville repeated a breakfast question at lunch, which made Hermione feel very unprepared.

Hermione explained that they had cancelled the meeting with Kingsley, had set up new protection wards on the house, and that they were giving a day of recovery before finishing the details of their new incursion. She had not, as of yet, told anyone else about Malfoy Manor.

Katie sat cross-legged on some cushions, on the floor near the fire, reading. Lee was napping on the sofa nearby. Harry had gone in to check on Luna, then had decided that it was better to just leave her be.

“She almost knocked me out with a frying pan,” Harry told Draco. “Like something out of a Marx Brothers film.”

“Isn’t Marx the guy that invented socialism?” Katie asked, confused. “Did he make films with his brother?”

“Different Marx,” Harry explained. Katie had a Muggle father and her mother was a witch, but had been raised the Wizarding way, and her references tended to be muddled. Draco was setting the table with far too many forks, and trying to pretend he wasn’t watching Katie read.

Harry looked from one to the other, but was not going to get in the middle of it. “What are you reading?” he asked Katie.

“I just found this under the bed in the room I’m in,” she said, showing Harry. “A comic book. My dad always rattles on about how he used to collect these as a kid.” She showed him the date on it. “He would go insane if he knew I was touching this without gloves. It’s a relic.”

Harry found himself enthralled by the prospect of comic books. He hadn’t read one… well, since he’d nicked a couple from Dudley one summer. “What else did you find?” he asked excitedly. “They must have belonged to Sirius.”

“There’s a few Green Lantern, few Batman and a Superman. Oh, and Spiderman!” She tossed Harry a Spiderman comic. “I don’t get why you can’t get these in the Wizarding shops. They’re brilliant.”

“It’s the powers thing,” Hermione mused. “It’s not so amazing when everyone around you has magic. Think of all these superheroes, and then think about growing up knowing that you can fly and move things around with your magic. It probably seems dull… to pureblood families,” Hermione explained. Draco dropped the silverware, then picked it back up. Hermione gave him a sideways glance, then continued. “Like reading a fantasy novel, like The Hobbit. It probably sounds silly to someone who’s met a great wizard and elves and goblins.”

“What’s a hobbit?” Draco asked tentatively.

Katie tossed one of the comics at Draco, a Batman, bagged and boarded. He caught it midair.

“Here,” Katie said. “Millionaire vigilante seems like something you’d be into.”

Draco left the table mid-setting and walked over to the fireplace. He ran his fingers over the plastic-covered front. “Should I open it?” he asked. Someone had taken great care to keep it in good condition, it felt rude to just open it and read it.

“How else are you going to read it?” Katie asked.

Draco nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the book. He carefully took it out of the plastic and stared at the man in disguise. “A bat-man? Does he, like, transfigure into a bat?”

Harry was about to explain but saw that Katie had made a space for Draco next to her in the strewn cushions and was taking the book Draco had and replacing it with hers. “Better you start at the beginning,” she said, generously. “I’ll explain the backstory if you want.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged knowing looks, and Hermione took over Draco’s place-setting, removing the superfluous forks. Harry pushed a sleeping Lee’s legs out of the way and sat back to read an old Spiderman, glancing every so often in the direction of Draco’s newly-minted pop-culture lessons.

/ / / / / / /

Luna managed to not poison any of them.

“My mum taught me to cook,” Seamus whispered to Harry as he passed the potatoes.

This was a relief. Sure, there was a little extra salt on the chicken and too little on the potatoes, but it was at least a meal. There were cooked vegetables and salad. Luna had even made something special for Katie, who had declared herself a recent vegetarian. It was some sort of stuffed aubergine, Hermione noted, and tried to push the memory of her mother’s cooking away.

Absentminded, Hermione grabbed a piece of bread from Harry’s plate. He teased her, forking a green bean from hers. Harry leaned in and whispered something in Hermione’s ear that made her blush profusely.

Having a day off was a relief in some respects.

Draco was doing an inordinate amount of dishwashing, with Lee Jordan clearing the table and Katie drying the dishes. Seamus and Luna took a deserved break, Luna reading horoscopes off old Quibbler editions and attempting to guess Seamus’ astrological sign. Harry and Hermione scurried off towards the library, in what Draco thought was not a very host-like manner. Neville read Green Lantern with curiosity.

“So because his family is dead, he becomes Batman?” Draco asked, evidently confused. “Like Potter.”

“Well, more murder-y, but in a way, yes.” Katie didn’t exactly know how to explain vigilante justice. “More like a rogue Auror.”

Draco nodded. “But why a bat? They’re very surly creatures.”

“You’re a very surly creature,” Katie countered. “Bats are mostly misunderstood.”

Draco felt his throat freeze shut, but silence would be worse. “Wouldn’t it make more sense, if he’s so rich, to just invest that money into some program to get the criminals off the street? Like building work ethic or sending them to school?”

Katie laughed and bumped his elbow. “Keep washing, before you decide to change the world.”

/ / / / / / / / /

Harry led Hermione towards the library, down stairs and through corridors, speeding up as they got closer to it. Hermione made it into the library before Harry, and he extended his hand to grab onto Hermione’s hip. She slipped out of his grasp and laughed merrily. He closed the door behind him and pointed his wand at it, whispering “Colloportus”.

Hermione’s hair was the mess she’d predicted, more so from the running. Harry pressed his back against the door and just watched her little victory dance. She caught his gaze, heavy lidded eyes. The green of his eyes sparkled under her watchful stare. She extended her arm to him and he took her hand. She pulled him closer.

“You remember the tent?” she asked, her hands entwining with his.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I remember dancing to horrendous results,” he whispered.

“You weren’t too bad.” Hermione’s eyes glance up at his, then down at his lips. “I almost kissed you, then.”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Harry confessed. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. Everything was so fragile, then. Everything was ready to shatter.”

Hermione let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting their weight on his shoulders. “The dancing held me together just long enough,” she admitted.

She swayed slowly, to a music in her head. Harry could hear it, too, a deep voice and static and the singing insects of the Forest of Dean. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. They shuffled their feet softly, and he could feel a tear soak through his t-shirt.

“Hey,” he whispered, unsure if he should stop. Stop dancing, stop moving, stop holding her.

She wiped her eyes. “It’s silly, it just feels like we wasted so much time.” She looked into his eyes, with more certainty and determination than he’d ever seen in her eyes. And that was saying a lot. “You can kiss me now,” she added.

He bent down and pressed his lips against hers, chastely, trying to somehow make this their first kiss. If he’d been able to travel in time, he probably would not have changed the past. He probably would not have kissed her then, even knowing all he knew now. The world needed to move at its own pace.

Hermione looked up at him and gave him a quirk of a smile. “That’s not a very brave snog.”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m really not all that brave.”

“Yes, you are,” she said. She let her hands slide down the front of his t-shirt. Her fingers hooked onto the belt loops of his jeans and she pulled him closer, the air rushing out of the way as his hips settled between hers, her stance widening a bit. She raised herself on her toes and brushed her lips to his ear. “Kiss the girl, Harry.”

He turned his face slightly and captured her lower lip. Her mouth opened to allow him access, his hands knitting into her curls as she pulled him closer by the hips. Their mouths hot, their hands roaming. Somehow, someway, Hermione’s back pressed against the nearest bookcase. He trapped her hands above her head with his strong, lean fingers, his other hand moving down her hips, up her skirt. His mouth on her neck, everywhere. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers reached the thin strip of fabric between her legs. He let go of her hands and moved his free hand under her shirt, over the thinnest bra in the history of mankind, her nipples hardening against his touch.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Harry said, his breath hot against her ear.

Her hands, free at last, move to touch him through the fabric of his jeans, finding him impossibly hard, his erection pressing painfully against the denim. “About this?” she asked, her fingers raking over him.

He swore under his breath. “That, too,” he said.

“Good,” she said. She unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and reached for him, her hand pressing against his smooth hardness. He groaned and almost forgot his own mission, his knuckles against her knickers. He leaned his forehead against the bookcase as she took charge, driving him to distraction, her hand wrapped around his length and moving up and down, slowly, tortuously. He was so close, he wanted her so much, he… heard the doorknob turning. “Fuck,” he panted, stopping his movements. He smoothed Hermione’s skirt. She whimpered softly at the loss of contact, but kept her hand where it was. 

“Hey, why’s the library locked?” Neville asked to… the rest of the universe.

Harry groaned. “Always, Neville. Always,” he muttered. He ran his hand through his hair. Hermione moved her hand away from Harry and buttoned up her shirt. “Uh, sorry Nev, gimme a sec and I’ll unlock it,” he called out.

He looked to Hermione, who smiled sheepishly and gave herself a once over before nodding. “To be continued,” she said, pulling her hair into a high ponytail.

“Definitely,” he concurred. He exhaled and pointed his wand at the door. “Alohamora.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon moving around each other as if each was a land mine about to explode. In a sense, they were. Harry’s instinct had been to take her by the hand and lead her up to their room and finish what they’d started, but Neville – evil and cunning, should-have-been-a-Slytherin Neville - had questions for Hermione and so she stayed in the library with him. Harry wandered through rooms and corridors, his back tense, his ears drumming with desire.

“Will you pull your wand out of your arse and help me?” Draco commanded, distraught. He pulled Harry around by the elbow, into to the empty kitchen.

Harry was, evidently, confused. “What happened?”

“I killed it,” Draco declared, showing Harry the damn Tamagotchi.

Harry’s first instinct was to laugh, but Draco looked far too worried. Harry looked the thing over, the screen was a bit cracked but it was superficially alright. “It looks ok?”

“It was fine when I fed it yesterday, but look!” Draco pressed buttons to no avail. “Nothing.”

“Maybe the batteries ran out?” Harry questioned.

“The whatnow?” Draco asked.

Harry took the toy back and examined it. He found the place where the battery rested and pulled the lid back with his thumb. Sure enough the battery looked old. “It’s probably this. They run out after a while, this had probably been sitting in Arthur’s study for ages.” He looked at it more closely. “It’s got tiny numbers on it that tell you what type it is, it looks like the ones in watches. Any watch shop should have them.”

“So it’ll be ok?” Draco seemed genuinely worried.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know how these actually work. Like if the lack of power affects the memory on it, what you’ve done so far could be erased, or it might reset itself.”

Draco looked at Harry as if he’d grown an extra head in the shape of a serpent and he’d started to speak parseltongue through it.

Harry thought for a second. “Would you like it to run on magic?” he asked.

Draco shook his head. “That would kind of take the fun out of it.”

Harry nodded. He looked down at his watch. “Have you got a knife on you?” he asked, taking his watch off his wrist. Draco looked around the kitchen and found a small paring knife. He handed it to Harry, who used it to pop the back off his watch. He took the small battery with his thumb and pushed it onto the small toy. He closed the Tamagotchi back up. “It should work now.”

Draco took it back, tentative at first. He pushed a button and it came to life. “Oh. It’s an egg again.”

“Sorry, mate. I guess you lost your progress,” Harry said. They looked at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds. “You should show it to Katie,” Harry suggested. “She’ll probably get a kick out of it.”

Draco nodded. He was about to make his way out of the kitchen but he doubled back. “Thanks, mate,” he said. And he meant it.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

When night fell, a few sandwiches and chips later, Hermione found Harry in their room. Their room. It sounded so strange.

Harry was sitting on the bed, attempting to fix his watch, Hermione surmised, from all the wand-pointing going on.

“Is there a spell for this?” he asked, holding the watch in his hand as if it was a heavy gold ingot.

“For fixing a watch?” Hermione said. “It should work if you use Reparo.”

“No, for making it run on magic.”

Hermione watched him closely. “What was it running on before?”

“A battery. It was sacrificed at the altar of a Japanese tchotchke.” Harry looked up from the watch and met Hermione’s amused gaze.

“You did it for Draco.”

Harry shrugged. “You should have seen him. He was having a bit of a Malfoy Meltdown.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can probably make it work but it’s better if you just wait to buy a battery for it. Magic and time have… issues.”

He nodded and smiled, leaving the watch on the bedside table. Three wrapped gifts and a bezoar rested beside it. “So…”

“So…”

“So I hate Neville,” Harry said, blushing fiercely.

Hermione laughed and closed the bedroom door, giving it a soft tap with her wand to close it. “I don’t think he’d dare come in here.”

“I would not put it past him. Or Luna.”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ll just sleep, then,” she said, approaching the bed with a fake yawn.

Harry caught her by the waist and pulled her to him, her legs straddling him. “Not a chance,” he whispered breathily, pulling her into a long kiss.

They picked up where they’d left off, the earlier frustration made evident by their haphazard attempts at undressing, their inevitable fumbling with belt buckles and brassiere clasps. She decided to take lead and finish what she’d started, her hands moving slowly up and down his cock, tortuously slow. She was intent on making this a learning experience, her eyes moving from her hand and his erection, to his face and his reaction, gauging everything.

“Is that…” she asked, wondering.

“So good,” he murmured, a groan low in his throat. “Please…”

“What do you want?” she asked, feeling his breath hot on her neck as she increased the rhythm of her strokes.

“You,” he said, sweat and desire heavy on his body. “Oh, God,” he moaned, feeling himself close to the brink. She kissed a spot between his neck and his shoulder and his eyes flew open as he came helplessly in her hand, on her belly, with a low moan. “Fuck.”

His breathing was heavy, his eyelids fluttered closed as Hermione seemed to revel in the newness of it. She had done that. That was all her doing.

Harry could hardly keep his legs from collapsing, his face buried in Hermione’s hair. “Sorry,” he said, softly, confused. He stood back. “I made a mess.”

Hermione kissed him, long and slow. “Come,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bathroom. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

She turned the shower on and motioned for him to get in first. “I don’t want to get my hair wet,” she explained.

Harry laughed and pulled her in, ignoring the small complaint as he let the warm water wash over them. He let his hands move over her body and return every favor, the noise of the shower almost covering the sounds she made.

/ / / / / / / /

He liked this moment best.

Well, maybe second best.

The exact moment before getting into bed, when Hermione would just move around the room picking up things and putting them down, making mental notes for the next day. She rested her hand on the bezoar for a millisecond, then looking at Harry, she said, “Open mine.”

She tossed a small package into his hands. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Now?” he asked.

“Yes, now.” She touched her damp hair and harrumphed. “You are ruining my hair, you know that, right?”

He leaned on his elbows and looked up at her as she attempted to coax her curls into one of his old t-shirts. “It was worth it though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “A bit,” he said, his smile widening.

She sighed and sat next to him. “Go on, then.”

He opened the wrapping paper. It was… well… it was the small vial of Felix Felicis. Empty. He turned to look at her, holding the vial against his chest.

“I thought you’d like to have it… for good luck,” she said. “It kept us alive that day, I’m sure. I just thought…”

He placed the small vial next to the bezoar, gently so it wouldn’t tip. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s stupid and sentimental, but well, you were gone and…” Hermione trailed off, shrugging. “It’s not a great dream instrument.”

“Probably not.” He sat up and kissed her softly. “You are unbelievable.”

“Shut up, hair-assassin.” She bumped his shoulder and he feigned as if he was wounded, falling back on the bed.

He placed the vial on the bedside table, beside the bezoar, the other gifts. He took off his glasses and extended his arms, and Hermione lay down, resting her head on his shoulder.

“This has been a perfect day,” Harry said. “Except for Neville.”

Hermione’s laugh rang out like a chime. “Tomorrow we prepare, we go to the Manor. I’m worried.”

“Tomorrow we worry. Tonight, we sleep and pretend like we’re normal teenagers.”

“Do we go out to a pub and get pissed?” Hermione asked, worried.

“Alright, normal fifty-year olds who go to bed at nine o’clock,” Harry conceded.

Hermione sighed and cuddled into Harry’s arms. “Sounds perfect.”

/ / / / / / / / /

The nightmare of the night included a brief interlude during which Harry attempted to throw a bezoar at the damn snake.

“That’s not helpful,” Draco snarled.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve got a glass vial as well.”

“You are a wanker, Potter.” Draco pointed his wand at the snake that slid toward them. “Don’t you get the feeling that we keep doing the same thing over and over expecting different results?” he asked.

“Throwing a bezoar was somewhat different,” Harry said. “But yes, isn’t that the definition of madness?”

Hermione sighed from inside the glass case, looking at both boys in exasperation. “Will you stop bickering? I’m not keen on being a damsel in distress, but I’m not sure I can get myself out.”

The giant snake opened its mouth and swallowed Hermione whole.

/ / / / / / /

Harry woke with a start, covered in sweat, the sheets moist beneath his back.

Hermione slept placidly beside him, apparently unaware that she’d faced death in his dream. Instinctively, Harry touched his scar. It wasn’t aching, but he felt as if it should be.

He climbed out of bed and pulled the covers over Hermione’s bare legs. He pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers and smoothed his t-shirt over. His hair was sticking out every which way, and he fumbled around the dresser for his glasses.

He pushed his feet into his trainers, untied laces clicking against the floor as he made his way down the stairs and through the corridor towards the kitchen.

Draco was already there, the water rolling to a soft boil, a few minutes away from the whistle.

There was already a mug set out for Harry.

Draco leaned against the counter, his elbows holding him up as he looked to Harry, who just dropped down defeated onto a nearby chair.

“That sucked,” Draco pointed out.

Harry rubbed his eyes, his glasses lifting and dropping back on the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that was... new.”

Draco fixes the tea. He slides a mug over to Harry and sits across from him. “We need to do something about this.”

Harry takes the mug and tips it over to Draco, a steady headache forming behind his scar. “Cheers.”

“What are you two doing up?” a voice asked from the kitchen doorway. It was Katie, in pyjamas and a huge jumper that threatened to swallow her. Her hair in a ponytail, like it almost always was, but messier.

“Midnight tea,” Harry answered. “It’s tradition.”

“Sleep is overrated,” Draco concurred. “Tea?”

Katie raised an eyebrow at his offer, but gave him a clipped nod and settled into the chair Draco vacated. He fussed with mugs and spoons.

“One sugar,” Katie said, not a please, not a thank you. Harry picked up on that, and Katie just gave him a knowing shrug. When Draco deposited a warm mug in her hand she smiled up and mouthed a silent thank you.

Draco walked in a fast circle, unsure what he should do next. Katie rolled her eyes and pointed to another chair beside hers. He sat and pulled his mug over and drank deeply.

Katie sipped quietly and slowly. For Harry, it was evident the conversation with Draco was over. He stood, despite Draco’s pleading eyes, and said a soft goodnight.

/ / / / / / / / /

Katie was unnerving Draco. With her silent sipping and her saying nothing. With her silence.

He moved the sugar around his cup, clinking the spoon against the porcelain.

She looked at her cup, then up at him, her eyes questioning.

“What?” he asked, almost unkindly.

He was rattled, definitely.

“You can do it now,” she said, calmly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do what?”

“Apologize,” she said, her lips burning against the cup. She looked straight at him. “Well, go on.”

Draco’s jaw dropped slightly. A smile formed in his lips, he couldn’t help it. “You’re weird.”

“That does not sound like an apology,” she said, and made a movement that looked like she was about to get up and walk away.

Draco caught her wrist in her hand, gently. “Sorry. Please stay,” he said.

She smiled, half laughing at him. “I was just going to get some more sugar for my tea.”

“Oh.” Draco let go of her hand, missing her pulse under his thumb right away. He felt stupid and awkward and walked across the kitchen just for something to do. He brought back the sugar. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” she pressed.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair. “Right. Ok.” He took a deep breath. “I am sorry for what I did, for involving you in that stupid scheme, for taking half a year from your life. For being a complete idiot, for hurting you. For being a Death Eater, for listening to everyone’s plans and everyone’s ideas for what I was supposed to do, for not fighting it off.” He ran out of breath. He scratched the damn mark under his jumper and he knew Katie knew what he was hiding. “I should have been stronger, I should have said no. Then I wouldn’t have put you at risk.”

“Why didn’t you say no?” she asked, her eyes narrow. Her cup was abandoned on the table.

Draco took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. “I was stupid and my father… I just wanted for everything… I wanted to stop everything. Just bring everything to a close. I was…”

“You were a kid,” Katie said, softly. “We all were.”

Draco looked away. He couldn’t look into her eyes, so afraid that he’d find himself staring at deception. “It was my fault. I should have… I didn’t know how…”

Katie stood and walked slowly over to him. She placed a soft hand on his shoulder. “Your father should have taken care of you,” she whispered. “I saw what he did at the Ministry. I understand it better now.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, holding something inside, locked up, a dam waiting to overflow, threatening to flood towns and cities and drown them all.

Katie had both hands on his shoulders now, and her eyes were squared on his. “You made a mistake. We were all just stupid kids, Draco. And kids are allowed to make mistakes. You know that.” She was giving him the gift of a kindness that he’d hardly ever received and had certainly seldom reciprocated. “I forgive you. You should forgive yourself, too.”

Not entirely sure what possessed him, Draco allowed himself to be hugged tightly by this girl, this girl he hardly knew and who he’d so badly hurt. She held him tightly, like a friend. She whispered, “It’s ok.”

When he finally backed away, he noticed a darkened spot on the shoulder of her jumper. He’d cried on her shoulder. He wiped his eyes, his nose, on the back of his sleeve. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Want to wash those up?” she asked, pointing to the tea mugs. “I’ll dry.”

Draco nodded, still unsure of his footing. She bumped his shoulder in a friendly manner, like a Quidditch team-mate would, and he took it as a good sign.

He washed, she dried.

And when they turned to go to their respective beds, Katie kissed his cheek softly before saying goodnight.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a graphic crime scene described in this chapter, please let me know if you feel I should add an extra warning. Sorry about the delay in posting, RL got complicated and I've gotten a bit behind on both the writing and the posting schedule. Hope you enjoy it.

Draco had drawn a map of Malfoy Manor on the breakfast table. Hermione shuddered as she traced her fingers through the rooms, the dungeons. Harry lay a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and she let her chin rest on it for a second, feeling the calm course through her. She kissed his hand and turned back to the map.

Draco knew what it had cost, the last time Harry and Hermione had been in the Manor. He knew blood had been shed, Hermione had the scars to prove it. Still, it had been that time, Draco’s failure to recognize Harry, that had given him a small taste of redemption. He hated what had happened, but seeing Harry and Hermione and Ron actually resisting, their lives in peril… it had spelled it out for him, for the first time. A different path, another way.

“There are wards,” Draco said. “They used to be blood-wards, but now… I don’t know if I’ll be locked out. We can’t apparate in.”

“What about Narcissa?” Harry asked, his chin resting on Hermione’s shoulder. Draco looked at him a bit in awe. He had never seen Harry be so nonchalantly affectionate towards Hermione in public. Luna, Neville, Katie, Lee, Seamus, all of them were seeing the same thing he was, but they didn’t seem to be reacting. He let it pass. “Malfoy?” Harry insisted.

“I don’t know,” he answered, honestly. He thought of his mother’s roses. “I have no idea.”

“What’s the closest we can apparate, you reckon?” Hermione looked at the area surrounding the map. She pointed to a wooded area beyond the iron gates. “These grounds, are they inside the wards?”

“They shouldn’t be.” Draco traced the path from the woods, through the gates, beyond the front door, all the way to where his room would be. His old refuge, maybe it was undisturbed, still. “I think this is better,” he said, pointing to a thicket of pine trees beyond the gates. “There’s a small door here, from the gardens to the woods. And there’s an entrance through the kitchens, here.” He pointed to a small square in his drawing. “We’ve been bereft of House Elves since the Dark… you know. He didn’t want them around.”

Hermione nodded. “I think we should drive there. As close as we can. The less of a magical trace we leave, the better.”

“We can’t all fit in your car, Granger,” Draco said, with great loft. “I mean we could with expansion charms, but it would be a bit much, eight of us.” Draco counted around him.

Harry was about to intercede, but Hermione held up a hand. “No, you’re right. And you can’t be trusted to drive a second car on a motorway.” Hermione frowned and looked out the window, where the tiny electric car was parked. She pointed her wand at it and it began to expand. The sound of crunching metal could be heard all the way inside the house. Neville stood and looked out. “Wicked,” he said.

They all curiously walked over to peer out the window. Where the small compact car had once stood, now rested a large van. “That looks like the Mystery Machine,” Harry pointed out. Hermione smiled a bit.

Katie laughed. “It does! I used to love Scooby Doo.” Draco was about to launch into a line of questioning that would deviate them far too much from their original conversation. Katie waved it away. “I’ll explain later,” she said.

Draco nodded and returned to the map.

“We can’t be sure he’ll be there,” Harry pointed out, joining Draco.

“He’ll be there,” Draco assured him. “He always came back, when things didn’t quite work out. He’ll be there, plotting his next move. I’m certain.”

“When do we strike?” Lee asked. Draco still felt odd that there were all these people rallying around them, ready to take a curse in the chest for Harry. For him, too, now… maybe.

“Tonight. I think we need a bit of backup,” Hermione pointed out. “Should we call Charlie and Bill?”

Harry shook his head. “We said we’d go against instinct. We should keep this incursion as small as possible. But have a failsafe.”

“What will the failsafe be?” Neville asked.

Luna, who’d been mostly silent through the meeting, looked up, confident. “That would be me, right?”

Harry smiled at Luna, who never did cease to surprise him, much like Neville and his bad timing. “Yes. You’re the best at apparating, and you’ll have comms with Lee. You are our failsafe.”

Luna looked rather pleased. “That’s good. That way it will be seven of you going in. Seven is such a powerful number.”

/ / / / / / / / /

Eight people in an old van was still a bit crowded, Harry thought. He rode shotgun next to Hermione, their designated driver. There was traffic through London but it was clear once they got on the motorway. Lee was in the far back, fiddling with the radio equipment. Draco sat next to Katie, thumbing through a Batman comic and once in a while pointing to something and asking a question about it. Luna, Neville and Seamus played a bit of exploding snap. The snapping was a bit distracting for driving, Harry imagined, but Hermione didn’t complain.

Harry carried with him the final two unopened gifts, and the two opened ones as well.

“Are you?” Hermione asked. “You should just open them.”

Harry nodded. “Isn’t it weird to think like we’re doing?”

Hermione shrugged.

Harry knew it wasn’t the best time to tell her about the nightmare he’d had the prior evening, but there really wouldn’t be a better time. “You were in our nightmare last night.”

Hermione kept her eyes on the road, avoiding her instinct to swerve and swat Harry over the head. “What?”

“You were in my dream. Draco’s too. The snake ate you.”

“Oh, that’s just perfect,” Hermione muttered. “Go on then, open those two things. Can’t be any worse.”

Harry tore open Ron’s gift first. It was… “It’s the Deluminator, the one Dumbledore gave him.”

“He told me that… I’d forgot,” Hermione said. “Ron said he wanted you to have it. That it had been his for the hunt, but that it was always yours, in the end. Because the hunt was yours.”

Harry pushed it into his pocket. “It is dead useful.”

He looked at the final package. It was neatly wrapped in a Muggle gift wrap, with pictures of other wrapped gifts. Colorful. So unlike his aunt.

He opened it carefully this time, taking the bits of tape off, unfolding the folded edges.

There was a letter inside the small package, a short letter, in Dudley’s neat handwriting.

It read, “Harry. Your friend Hermione wrote to let us know what happened to you. We hope you are better and able to receive this. When we last moved, I found this in one of the older trunks. I finally got Mum to tell me what it was, and I thought you should have it. It used to belong to your mother.”

Harry pulled out a short silver chain which had a small round locket on it. He opened it with a soft click.

Inside there was nothing. No pictures. There was only a mirror. He saw himself reflected. It was inscribed with his mother’s initials.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

He silently placed the chain around Hermione’s neck. She accommodated it around the seatbelt and glanced at it briefly before looking back at the road. “It’s just a mirror, inside. You hold on to it, I’ll lose it.”

Draco leaned in from the backseat. He opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione cut him off.

“If you ask me how long until we get there, I will skewer you, Draco,” she said, holding up a finger.

“I was just going to say that you missed the exit,” he pointed, a self-satisfied smirk in his eyes.

“Oh, damn.”

/ / / / / / / /

They arrived at the edge of the woods a few hours before nightfall.

Luna offered sandwiches, but most were not in the mood for eating. “They’re very good, I promise,” Luna said, and nobody had the heart to deny her. Everyone took a sandwich and tried to eat it.

“It is good,” Seamus said. Nerves were, however, on edge.

“How long ‘til sunset?” Harry asked, peering at Hermione’s watch. Draco winced, feeling the small toy in his pocket. Harry was without a functioning watch because of him.

Luna looked up at the sky, wisely. “Three hours.”

“We should get ourselves organized,” Lee declared, popping the back of the van open and arranging his communications equipment neatly into kits for each of the eight.

“It will take us about an hour to get through these woods, we should try to make it through with some sunlight still,” Draco explained. He looked around at his companions. Harry and Hermione huddled next to Luna, explaining different strategies in case it all went south. Neville taking his equipment from Lee. Seamus, stuffing Weasley joke items into his jacket pockets. Katie, stretching her legs on the side of the van.

There was a chance that they wouldn’t all make it. That they would not survive.

He tapped Harry’s shoulder and motioned with his head for a moment alone. They walked a few feet away from the car, their pace slow.

“Are we sure?” Draco asked. “This is insane, it’s just us, and my father… he’s a bastard, a powerful bastard and… you could all get hurt.”

Harry looked at Draco with mild confusion. “You could also get hurt.”

“That’s par for the course in this house,” Draco muttered. “I can deal with getting hurt. I just don’t want… anyone else getting hurt for me. For us.”

Harry sighed. “My experience has been that sometimes people want to set the world to rights. You can’t tell Hermione to back off any more than you can tell Luna there are no File-Eating Flubberworms in the Department of Mysteries.” He lay a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You can’t protect them. They feel it’s their mission, too. We can look out for each other but we can’t lock the people we love in glass cases.” He swallowed hard, remembering the image of Hermione in his nightmare. “As much as I’d like for it to be just the two of us, they care too much about us to let us go alone. There’s strength in numbers, even in meager numbers.”

“I have this feeling… in the pit of my stomach. And like I’m going to sick all over your shoes.” Draco leaned against a tree and took deep breaths. “I liked it better when I didn’t care if you all lived or died.”

“I don’t think that time ever existed, Malfoy,” Harry said. Harry let him have a moment of breathing. “That nausea, it’s normal. You get used to it.”

“To living with bile in your throat?” Draco asked.

“And dread. So much dread,” Harry elaborated.

“Wonderful.”

Harry pulled him away from the tree and put an arm around his shoulders. “Come on. If we survive this, I’ll buy you a pint and we can talk about how horrible it is to be a hero.”

“I despise you,” Draco said, but allowing Harry’s arm to support some of the weight of the world.

“No, you don’t,” Harry sighed. “But I won’t tell if you won’t.”

/ / / / / / / / /

They made their way through the brush, between the trees. Luna had whispered soft warming charms upon each of them before entering the forest, and everyone was grateful as a chill descended.

“Dementors?” Neville asked.

Harry paused for a second, then shook his head. It was a different sort of cold. They pressed on.

The forest was getting darker, but Harry shook his head at the suggestion of using their wands to light the path. Hermione rummaged in her pack and brought out a small torchlight. She switched it on and lit the floor below with a soft yellow light.

Katie tracked the light with her eyes. She grabbed Draco’s wrist and motioned for them all to stop. “There’s something up ahead,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can you hear it?”

They kept quiet for a moment. Seamus nodded. “Water.”

“Look at the ground… it’s seeping through,” Katie pointed out. She knelt down and touched the wet grass. “Is there a lake near?”

Draco shook his head. “We’re not far now,” he said. “Whatever it is, it will be new.”

They advanced.

The sound of water became more persistent, it wasn’t a trickle, it was rushing water, rapids.

The manor became visible through the thicket of trees and Draco realized at immediately what was missing. “The gate… it’s gone.”

And so it was.

The second thing he realized was where the sound of water was coming from.

The trees gave off to a gaping precipice, with a waterfall that seemed a deep, endless well.

Surrounding the entire manor, instead of a gate, there was water.

“Your father built a fucking moat?” Harry asked.

“Your father is an arsehole,” Neville contributed.

Draco rested his hands on his knees.

“What now?” Katie asked.

Draco looked towards the castle again. “We swim?”

/ / / / / / / / / / /

Seamus let a small enchanted rock fall from his hand while Lee timed it. “One-onethousand, two-onethousand…”

Draco had conjured the map of the Manor and was turning it again in midair, as if the map was going to answer any questions.

“I never thought to pack brooms,” Hermione confessed, as if admitting to the greatest flaw in the plan.

Lee kept counting.

Katie looked at the map. “Where is the trapdoor, the one that leads to the kitchens?” she asked.

Draco pointed it out on the map, then pointed towards the Manor. They were standing directly in front of it, were it not for the moat, they’d be a few steps away.

“How about summoning a broom?” suggested Neville. “Harry’s done that before.”

“The brooms are locked in a cupboard and will make too much of a rattle if they start flying around the house,” Draco said.

Katie kept looking intently at the door Draco had pointed to. Lee was getting close to three digits. “Give it up, it’s probably spelled bottomless,” she told Lee.

“Got any better ideas?” Seamus asked.

Katie shook her head, but her smile widened. “No, but it looks like Harry does.”

Everyone looked at Harry, who was holding a small glass bottle in his hand. “Felix Felicis.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

Harry shook the glass bottle, showing it to everyone.

“It’s empty,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry shook his head. “Look closer.”

Hermione did. She squinted and could see it now, clearly. One single drop.

“That’s hardly enough for all of us,” Neville pointed out.

“Yes, it is,” Draco said, taking the bottle from Harry and looking right at the drop of liquid.

“A multiplication charm?” Katie asked, confused. “Will it work? It might lose its potency.”

“If it was so easy to just fill it up again, anyone would do it,” Hermione countered.

“No, that’s not it,” Harry points out. “Malfoy?”

Draco nodded. He looked at the map and pointed a spot to Harry and Hermione. “You both know the Manor. This is where I need you to be in fifteen minutes”

“You’re not letting him go alone,” Hermione hissed at Harry, but it was too late. Draco tipped back the bottle and took the leftover potion. He felt a sudden warmth invading his body and a surge of giddy optimism.

“He’s not alone,” Harry said. “Ready, mate?”

Draco nodded, beaming. “Ready. You’ll do the door?”

Harry assented and drew his wand. “Good luck.”

“If I die…” Draco started, his smirk reaching his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, smiling, too. 

Draco walked a bit further into the forest and turned to face the door. “Now,” Harry said, his wand trained on the door.

Draco broke into a run at full speed and at the edge of the moat, he jumped.

In a way he seemed to be running in mid-air, something Harry had only seen done once in his life.

He was like Michael Fucking Jordan.

“Alohamora!” he yelled, the small door opening a fraction of a second before Draco landed, one foot inside. He grabbed both sides of the door and turned back, his smile wide in awe at his own jump. Harry breathed in relief as Draco disappeared into the house.

“You are both complete idiots,” Hermione muttered. “Let’s go.”

/ / / / / / / / /

Draco hadn’t seen the inside of his parent’s house in quite some time. The kitchens looked the same, though he knew his mother would not have touched them during remodeling.

He did wonder where his mother was.

He still felt giddy with the effect of the potion, but knew it would not last.

He made his way around the Manor, through the back rooms and the servant halls, down the rose corridor which looked out to his mother’s greenhouse, and down to the dungeons.

He grabbed hold of the loose bars on the window and charmed them out of the way. From where he stood, he could see the shadowy figures of his friends by the edge of the woods. 

Using the wrought iron bars, he flicked his wand atop them and watched as they slowly extended and expanded. He had never been an excellent student, but he had been quite good at both potions and transfiguration. Maybe, if he applied himself, he could make something out of it.

His friends. He felt the second the bar extended far enough, Potter’s wand tapping the other end and sending vibrations through the metal. He fixed the bars to stabilize them with a simple charm, then another movement of his wand and he wound them together with branches he pulled from the woods.

Harry was, of course, the first to come through. Steady, almost fearless. He pulled himself into the dungeon and sighed out. “That was some nifty bit of magic,” he said, smiling. Draco looked pleased. Draco rapped his knuckles on the bars and the next person came through, Lee. Then Neville, Seamus, Katie. Finally, Hermione.

She shivered the second she entered the house.

“Sorry about that,” Draco said.

She shrugged it off. “You have a dungeon in your house. We should have seen it coming, back then.”

“Where to now?” Harry asked.

Draco glanced over at Harry’s watch, but it wasn’t working. Draco touched the Tamagotchi in his pocket, solid, real. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight,” Neville answered.

Draco nodded over to the dungeon door. “We have to split up…” He turned to Harry and Hermione. “Again, I am so sorry…”

Hermione poked him with her wand. “You apologize again, I will hex you.” She poked him again. “And evidently I know the layout better than Harry.”

“Hey,” Harry protested.

“You have a crap sense of direction unless you are supremely concentrated. Plus, you spent most of the time here in this room. I was up there, I remember.” Her words softened with a half-smile. “You go with Draco and Katie, I’ll take Lee, Neville and Seamus.”

Harry nods, handing Hermione the invisibility cloak and the deluminator. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re keeping the bezoar?” she whispered an amused question. He shrugged.

Draco nodded to her. “You should take the back steps to the rooms. We’ll take the living room and the entrance hall. And the ballroom.”

“Ballroom?” Seamus asked.

Draco sighed. “You don’t want to know.”

Without concealment charms or much magic at all, they walked along, following Draco down small service corridors and through kitchens and halls.

They split up at the bottom of the back stairs, Hermione giving Harry’s hand one quick squeeze before letting go. She led the boys up the steps and disappeared around the corner with one last affirming look at Draco.

And then there were three, Harry thought, turning to Draco. “Lead the way.”

/ / / / / / / /

“What exactly are we looking for?” Seamus whispered. Hermione closed her eyes for a second, bringing forth her memory of Draco’s map.

“Lucius. We just need to find him,” she explained. “We find him, we call the others, Draco does the rest.”

Lee shrugged a bit. “Sure he’s up to it?”

Hermione shrugged back.

They rounded the corner to corridor of large doors in relatively quick succession. The rooms.

From what she remembered, there would be guest rooms, and Draco’s own bedroom, then Narcissa’s drawing room, then the Master Bedroom.

She cast a very soft “Hominem Revelio” and found the rooms to be empty, except for the last three rooms. The charm stopped before it reached those rooms, as if it had hit a wall of magic.

“We’ll have to check those in person,” Neville said, squaring his shoulders.

Hermione huffed. “Alright. Let’s go.”

/ / / / / / /

Draco took them through the ballroom with quiet trepidation. Katie stared in disgust at the paintings on the walls, the bloodied boars and family ancestors holding the daggers.

Harry remembered being here before: Hermione’s screams. Begging not to be recognized, silently praying for Malfoy to be better, to help him. Ollivander, just shy of broken. Luna’s bruised cheek.

And then he remembered Draco looking at him and knowing, knowing there was recognition in his eyes. Draco, lying.

It had been their first exchange of wands, his disarming Draco, that had led them to here and now, to wands with twin cores, to twinned dreams, to standing together as allies in this strange and cold house.

“He’ll be in the study,” Draco had said, so sure of himself. At least he had tried to sound sure of himself. Now he wasn’t sure about much of anything.

The study rested behind double doors just past the conservatory. The doors were impressively wide and tall. Harry didn’t remember the space, from his time in this house before.

Draco took a tentative step towards the door, and all of a sudden, his feet stopped moving. His breath grew increasingly faster, his heart drummed in his ears. He turned to Harry, his eyes wide, his mouth dry. “I can’t,” he said, so softly Harry could barely hear it.

Katie drew her wand and pointed it at the door. There’d been no sound from the other side of the door, but she knew Draco needed a moment, and Harry needed to get him through, and she needed to stand guard. Harry dragged Draco off to the corridor outside the conservatory, only a few feet away from Katie.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Harry asked, looking Draco over with worry.

“I… I don’t know.”

Draco could feel the house closing in on him, the walls tightening, the floor dropping out from under him, the ceiling crushing him. He tugged at the collar of his jumper, trying to let more air in.

Harry placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Just breathe, ok? Just take deep breaths.”

“I can’t,” Draco said. He brought his hands up to his face. He could feel cold sweat tricking down his back.

Harry cursed under his breath. Hermione was so much better at things like this, panic attacks and people losing their shit.

But Harry knew Draco. Something about sharing dreams and becoming unlikely friends made him realize that he’d known Draco all along, because they were so similar. Shitty families. Shitty upbringing. Shitty expectations thrust upon them when they could barely recite their times tables.

“I need you to get it together, Draco,” Harry said, his voice steady, his eyes waiting for Draco to open his and just look. He was saying his name for the first time and it was a deliberate decision. Draco looked up at Harry, his breath still ragged and quick. “We all need you to stay strong just a little longer. You don’t have to fight him alone, anymore.”

Draco kept attempting to steady his breath, poorly.

Harry continued. “He is a bastard. But he is your father, and you’re allowed to feel complicated stupid things about him. You’re allowed to hate him and love him at the same time.”

“I hate him,” Draco said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Do you have the Tamagotchi?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, his hand slipping into his coat pocket and touching it.

“Do you remember how to get rid of boggarts?”

Draco nodded again.

“When you see your father, imagine him playing with the Tamagotchi,” Harry said, attempting a half smile. “Don’t let him get in your head.”

Draco noticed that he was smiling a bit, despite himself. His breathing was starting to regulate.

Which was just as well, because it was then that they both heard a loud scream from one of the portraits in the hallway where they’d left Katie. “INTRUDERS! FILTHY VERMIN!” And then, Katie screamed.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Draco’s room was basically a drafty upstairs dungeon with a high window, Hermione thought, as she glanced inside and advanced. She was unsure of what she was looking for. Seamus and Lee were looking through Narcissa’s also-empty drawing room.

Neville looked through Draco’s drawers.

Of course, Lucius would not be in there.

But, still, Hermione was torn between looking and feeling like she’d invaded Draco’s privacy, or not looking and feeling like she was leaving stones unturned.

Neville opened Draco’s closet and whistled low. “Hey, Hermione, look at this.”

Hermione turned and smiled. Draco’s closet, full of dark clothes, clothes that spoke of a Draco from before. But also a well-worn burgundy coat and a dark green knit jumper that also looked worn. And dark trousers. Hermione took some and put them in her bag, Draco would appreciate it.

They walked out of the room and spilled back onto the hall, facing the door to the master bedroom.

Hermione looked back at Lee, Seamus and Neville and, with great determination, she pushed the door open.

She smelled it all before she saw it.

The blood.

So. Much. Blood.

“Fucking hell,” Lee whispered.

Seamus vomited.

Neville walked past Hermione, to the bed, his foot slipping slightly on the blood, but steadying himself.

Narcissa Malfoy lay on the bed, still and cold, eyes open.

Her throat was slit, as were her wrists. It was Sectumsempra, Hermione recognized instantly.

Neville touched Narcissa’s face, closing her eyelids. “He shouldn’t see this,” he told Hermione. “No one should have to see something like this.”

Hermione nodded, tears stinging her eyes.

And then the locket on the necklace Harry had given her started to vibrate.

And Katie’s scream travelled through the walls.

Hermione grabbed Neville’s arm and disappeared with a quick pop. Lee and Seamus ran out of the room and down the stairs, Lee mouthing into his earpiece, “Luna, stand by.”

/ / / / / / / / /

Draco and Harry had their wands trained on Lucius, who was holding Katie by her hair, his wand pointed at Katie’s neck.

“What is it with you and mudbloods, son? Or…” Lucius sniffed at Katie’s hair. “Half-bloods, I see.”

Hermione and Neville popped into existence behind Harry and Draco, wands out.

“Let her go, Father,” Draco said, steadily. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“I beg to differ,” Lucius said, his smile cold. “She’s here. They’re all here. They’re all involved.”

And he dragged his wand across Katie’s throat.

Blood began to spurt out of Katie’s neck, her eyes wide in pain but still bright, conscious.

Draco could tell it wasn’t a deep gash, but he couldn’t focus on the knowledge when he was feeling as if he’d been cut himself. He ran to her, pressing his hands against her neck, trying to stop the bleeding.

“See, she is involved,” Lucius said, a dark smile pulling at his features.

Hermione slid to Draco’s side, handing him dittany and muttering incantations over Katie. The blood stopped flowing but Draco’s hands were stained a deep red. He looked up. “I will kill you.”

“No, you won’t. You’re weak.” Lucius looked back up at Harry. “And you’re all fools.”

Hermione had almost sealed Katie’s wound, she gave Katie’s hand a quick squeeze and Katie nodded. Hermione pushed her hand into her pocket and flicked the deluminator. All the lights in the room entered her pocket. Harry and Draco pointed their wands at Lucius’ retreating figure.

“Get out,” Harry yelled back at Seamus and Neville. “Get them out.”

“Like hell,” croaked Katie, sitting up, blood sputtering from her mouth, but Hermione held her down.

“Go, we’ll follow,” Hermione said, helping Katie up. She tossed the deluminator at him. Harry caught it in mid-air and nodded. Hermione motioned for Seamus and Lee to help her with Katie. “Get her to Luna.”

Harry followed Draco, who was running after Lucius, his feet moving faster than he knew they could carry him. The deluminator swallowed up the lights in front of Lucius, but he knew the house well enough, too well for the darkness to be any sort of deterrent. Harry followed the pale hair as it shone in whatever bit of moonlight made it through the windows.

Draco’s wand was steadily pointed at Lucius’ back, but he felt like they were just running around in circles. It was childish. “STOP.” Draco yelled, his voice trembling. “Just stop.”

And then, Lucius did.

Lucius turned to face them.

“We’re here. You have us where you want us,” Draco said, his breath rushing out of him. “What do you want?”

Harry stopped beside Draco, his wand hand at his hip. The darkness had enveloped them in the middle of the ballroom. Draco sounded defeated, but his hand was still gripping his wand tightly, a straight line could be drawn from the tip of his wand to the long neck of Lucius Malfoy.

“Did you feel the call?” Lucius said, his wand pointed at the mark on Draco’s arm.

The uncovered mark, resting inches above the blood-stained hands, was faded and completely still.

“Not even an itch,” Draco replied, venturing a smile. “You have no power. You were never the favorite. You were just a hotelier.”

Harry placed a steadying hand on Draco’s shoulder, and Draco gave him a sideways glance that said, “Leave it to me,” as clearly as if it had been spoken. Harry raised his wand at Lucius.

“You have no power over us,” Harry said.

Lucius didn’t chance a look at Harry. He instead fixed his eyes on Draco and said, quite simply, “I killed your mother.” Lucius dared to smile, a severely deranged smile that showed teeth and tongue. “She was very… inconvenient.”

Draco’s stomach dropped. It was as if all air had left his lungs. He felt his legs wobble for a second, before catching himself.

He flicked his wand at Lucius and said, softly, “Legillimens”.

The force of this whispered word was enough to knock Lucius back against the wall. The tendrils of memory seeped from his mind into Draco’s wand, and through his hands and up his arm and neck and to his own mind.

And Harry knew, the second it hit Draco’s eyes, that it was true.

Lucius dropped to the floor. Harry disarmed him wordlessly.

He snapped the wand in two, even though he knew that Lucius could defend himself without it. It felt odd, the second wand he’d broken in less than a week, but it felt righteous.

Lucius laughed at his son’s shocked expression. “Love will only get you so far in life. You have to fight alone, son.”

“I am not your son,” Draco said, every word a deliberate sting.

Draco pointed his wand to Lucius, a curse on the tip of his tongue, but Harry beat him to it.

“Stupefy,” Harry cast, his wand pushing Lucius back against the wall. Lucius’ eyes drifted closed.

“Potter, I have to… It has to end… I saw…”

Harry placed a palm atop Draco’s wand and lowered it. “I know.”

“You don’t. There’s no Dark Lord, not anymore. It’s him. He is the Favorite because he made himself into the favorite, he made everything up. He got power, I don’t understand how he got the power, and the followers. He’s styled himself the new Dark Lord, and I did feel the Mark, I did, I just lied, I ignored it, I…” Draco trailed off. “We have to end this.”

“He will get his punishment, but it can’t be you,” Harry whispered. “You are not your father.”

Draco lowered his wand just a bit more. He reached into his pocket and touched the Tamagotchi again, a sense of calm covering him. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his wand hand.

Hermione and Neville ran in to find Draco taking slow breaths and Harry pointing at Lucius.

Neville stunned Lucius twice more, in quick succession, and conjured magical ropes out of thin air. “Bastard isn’t getting away anymore.”

“What now? He just goes back to Azkaban? He just… breaks out and does it again?” Draco asked. He brought a hand to his face, but stopped. The scent of Katie’s blood, pungent and metallic, filled his nostrils. “We just wait until he hurts someone else?”

“No,” Hermione said, her voice clear in the dark night. “We won’t let him. We’ll take his magic.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

Hermione guided Harry and Draco towards Narcissa’s room. Now that the doors were open, the putrid scent of blood and bile permeated the corridor, settling in their nostrils. Harry gagged.

“You don’t have to…” Draco started, but Harry waved it away.

They’d left Lucius surrounded by wands: Neville, Lee, Seamus. But there was an urgency.

“Draco… It’s… You shouldn’t have to see,” Hermione said, but Draco was already inside the room. His eyes fell on the greenish tint of his mother’s skin, how her arms seemed almost bloated. The rusted bloodstains on the sheets, the pool of blood drying and thickening on the floor.

And then Draco could see something shimmer, just a flash, out of the corner of his eye. “Did you see that?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “See what.”

“Stay where you are. Don’t move,” Draco ordered. “Potter, this is the first time you’ve seen this room, yes?”

Harry nodded.

Draco closed his eyes. “Tell me what’s inscribed in the painting above the bed.”

“There’s nothing inscribed on the painting above the bed,” Harry said.

“Granger?” Draco asked.

“Nothing,” she concurred.

Draco opened his eyes and looked up to the painting. “Keep looking.”

Slowly but surely, a small golden plaque appeared and three words in Latin inscribed themselves into the plaque. SANCTIMONIA VINCIT SEMPER.

“What the…” Harry started.

Draco turned to face Hermione and Harry, his back to the corpse of his mother, his eyes closed. The body suddenly started to fade, swallowed by bedsheets as the room rearranged itself behind Draco’s turned back.

Hermione held out her hand to Harry, who took it. The bed was empty and made now, and the pungent smell of blood was gone, as were the stains. Behind Draco the world was shifting and changing. 

Draco opened his eyes and gave them a wide smile. “This isn’t real,” he said.

And the house began to shake.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

“Malfoy, you are mental,” Harry pointed out, as they raced down the swerving stairs, led by Draco.

Every step Draco took seemed to shift what was left behind. The hallways, the stairs, the bannister, the rugs, the tapestries, it all changed with Draco’s passing. He was piercing the glamour. Hermione could feel the smells disappear, everything replaced by something new.

“Think about it, everything about this is absolutely mad. You saw what I did, what happened,” Draco yelled back. At the foot of the stairs, Lee, Neville and Seamus had their wands trained on Lucius. Draco drew his wand and pointed it at Lucius. “You lost.”

Around them everything seemed to shift, from the wallpaper to the chandeliers.

Lucius head lolled from side to side. A chandelier, heavy and glistening, swung above them. “What do you mean?”

“I know you didn’t kill Mother,” Draco said. “I know this is all… this is all fake. I guess the occlumency thing is hereditary, too.”

Lucius smiled, like someone who had read what a smile was but had never actually experienced it. Around them, the house kept shaking. “I knew I raised you to be clever.”

“You raised me to be obedient. Anything else, I learned on my own,” Draco spat out “And now, this thing ends. This… whatever this is.”

Draco kept his wand pointed at his father and nodded to Harry, who did the same. They both gave Hermione a short glance, asking for permission. They had gotten used to checking in with her, she was their moral compass.

She nodded.

“Stupefy,” they said at once, and the joined rays of magic hit Lucius square in the chest and knocked him back against the wall. He was out.

The floors, impeccable only seconds ago, became ashen beneath their feet. There had been no remodeling of the manor, it had all been an illusion. The bloodstains of the war and the dirt and grime and soot, they all remained beneath the illusion of the glamour. With the glamour gone, the house looked exactly as it had when Hermione and Harry had been there last, a cold and sickening shade of greenish gray.

Finally, the house stilled. The shaking stopped.

Draco let himself fall to the floor and held his head in his hands. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.” He looked up at Harry, at Hermione. At Neville’s kind eyes, Seamus’ fierce grip on his wand, Lee’s tight fists. “We need to know what’s real.”

“We need to neutralize your father,” Hermione countered, trying to keep the priorities straight. “We can’t keep looking over our shoulders at every turn. Whether he’s real or not, his actions have consequences here. And we need to stop him.”

Draco took a deep breath. “We need to find my mother first.”

“What do we do with him?” Neville asked, kicking Lucius leg. The older man remained very still.

Hermione turned her wand to Lucius. “Petrificus totallus,” she said softly. Lucius Malfoy’s body grew stiff. “Incarcero.” More rope wrapped around the older man, tightly. “That should do for a while. Take him out to the car. We’ll be right there.” She took one step, then turned back to Seamus. “Don’t let Katie kill him.”

Seamus nodded, disappointed. “How about Luna?”

“Don’t let Luna kill him either,” Hermione stressed.

Harry looked at Draco, his eyes asking a question he didn’t want to articulate. Hermione placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Lead the way,” she whispered.

“Dungeons,” Draco said. Harry and Hermione followed him.

/ / / / / / / / / /

The dark and damp atmosphere of the dungeons greeted them. Draco could see, through the unbarred window, that the moat was no longer there, replaced by the familiar enclosure and wrought-iron gates.

In the corner, in a corner that had been hidden by the glamour just an hour before, Draco spotted his mother cowering against the wall.

“Mother,” he said, softly.

Narcissa did not react. She was frozen in place, not moving.

“It’s a potion,” Hermione said, taking a step forward to examine her. Her eyes were sunken, her skin sallow, her hair seemed to have fallen out in clumps and there was so little of it left, hanging by her ears.

Her pupils were dilated and looked at one fixed spot on the wall.

Harry pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione in silence, who looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the bezoar into Narcissa’s mouth as delicately as she could manage. She held her mouth closed, forcing her to swallow.

It took a few minutes before the antidote started to take hold. Narcissa’s eyes started to move, slow blinks, and then a wave of nausea took her over. She turned her face and vomited bile with heaving coughs, her chest rising and falling.

And then she looked at her son.

Harry and Hermione hung back, looking at Narcissa with distant curiosity and pity.

“Draco?” Narcissa asked, her eyes blinking slowly as if trying to bring Draco into focus.

“Yes, Mother.” Draco kneeled down before her, and she took her face in his hands.

She smiled slowly, and Hermione could see there was a tooth missing, and a cut above her lip. “They told me you died,” Narcissa whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m like the weeds in the garden, Mother,” Draco said, taking his mother’s hands in his. “I’m very hard to kill.”

A strange bark of laughter left Narcissa’s mouth and Draco stood, helping his mother up.

“We need to go somewhere safe,” Harry declared, catching Hermione’s and Draco’s gazes. “I’d say Hogwarts but we can’t risk Lucius…”

Hermione nodded. “I have an idea.”

/ / / / / / / / /

The van was not large enough to transport all eight of them, plus Draco’s parents: Hermione had to admit as much.

So, she played to their strengths.

Luna squared up as they approached. Katie was pale but whole, a few bloodstains running down her jumper, and she had joined Lee, Seamus and Neville in their work keeping Lucius down and out.

Narcissa was limping a bit, supported by Draco as they made their way to the modified car. She looked at Lucius with disgust, but said nothing.

“We need to split up,” Hermione said, quietly. “Luna, I need you to take… him… to Kingsley. Speak to no one else. Lee, Seamus, Neville…”

Neville nodded. “We’ll go with her.”

“Just… I don’t want him waking up and getting the upper hand,” Hermione pointed out. “We’ll take Narcissa and Katie to St. Mungo’s.”

“I’m fine,” Katie attempted, but Hermione shook her head.

“You lost a lot of blood. This is happening.” Hermione pulled her hands into fists. “Let’s meet back at the house later, alright?”

Luna nodded. She placed a hand on Lucius forehead, and Neville, Seamus and Lee all touched Luna’s arms. With the soft sound of windchimes, they all disappeared.

Hermione opened the door to the van and motioned for everyone left to get in. Harry watched everyone mill into the car, before opening the passenger door and climbing in.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

The car seemed oddly large for the journey with just five of them, and the silence permeated the entire drive.

Narcissa sat between Draco and Katie, with her head resting on Draco’s shoulder. Harry’s fists were primed for a fight. He’d never known what it felt like to have a mother, but he knew that had he been in Draco’s place, he’d be bursting into flames. Someone had hurt Narcissa, deeply. Not someone; Lucius. But Draco seemed to have lost the will to maim.

Their arrival at St. Mungo’s was a lot calmer than their last visit, and they walked in slowly, keeping pace with Narcissa.

A Healer received Katie and took her to a curtained division to the right, while Draco and Narcissa went with another Healer to the left.

Hermione and Harry sat in the waiting room and took slow breaths, holding each other’s hands.

“I know what we have to do now,” Hermione said, finally, her fingers playing with the locket on the necklace.

“What?” Harry asked, nervous.

“We have to wake up,” she said, softly, her eyes filling with tears. “Because none of this is real, Harry. This is the dream. Or, at least, you and Draco have to wake up.”

He threaded his fingers through hers and nodded slowly. He kissed her hair and brought her closer, his arms surrounding her. “I know.”

/ / / / / / / / /

Draco stepped out from behind the curtain after an hour.

In the colder light of the hospital, Harry could see that Draco’s hands were still stained with Katie’s blood.

Katie was sitting beside Harry and Hermione, bandaged but with much better coloring, looking as though she’d had a good meal. “Blood-replenishing potion,” she’d told Hermione, after the healers had given her the go-ahead.

“They’re keeping her for observation. Two, three days, maybe… They said they’d owl. Told me to go,” Draco said, looking at no one in particular.

“If you want to stay, we’ll bring you clothes or… whatever,” Harry offered. He was crap at these things.

Draco shook his head. “She’s asleep. They gave her potions… the good kind,” he said, motioning with his hand as if that cleared everything up. “We should go. This place just…” Draco scratched the back of his head. “I don’t want to think of it too much, I don’t want this hospital to crash down on us. Let’s just…”

Harry nodded. “Let’s go to the house.”

Draco nodded back. “We have things to discuss.”

“That we do.”

/ / / / / / / / /

12 Grimmmauld Place seemed to have changed in their absence. It had only been a few hours, but to Harry the walls no longer looked solid, every smell was a question mark. His mind asked of every breath, _is this real?_ _How about this?_

Draco headed immediately for the shower. Katie took off her jumper and binned it, and Hermione could tell it was not a decision she would go back on. No amount of washing would erase what had happened. If it had happened.

“Hermione,” Harry started, but she shook her head and led him upstairs to their room.

She took off the necklace and showed it to Harry.

“It vibrated. Before Katie screamed,” Hermione explained. “I think it tells me when you’re in danger.”

“And what does it say now?” Harry asked.

“It says nothing, because nothing is real,” Hermione hissed. “This isn’t real, and you and I aren’t real, and that damn bezoar, and this fucking day…”

Harry pulled Hermione close, holding her tight against him. He took the necklace and placed it again around Hermione’s neck, taking care not to snag her hair in the process. “Even if the world isn’t real, you and I are real, here or somewhere or everywhere. I need you to believe that,” he whispered. He kissed her softly and she clung to him. They had always been each other’s lifeboats. This was no different.

“If this is a fucking dream, we need to get out of it real fucking soon,” Hermione said, after a beat. “Because there’s a real me out there waiting for the real you to get your act together.”

Harry kissed her forehead softly and stifled a bitter laugh. “Go on and wash up. Luna should be here soon. Then we’ll… make plans.”

“Plans have lost their appeal at this point,” Hermione said, but she gave Harry a warm smile. She let go of his hand reluctantly and headed to the shower. “Are you coming?” she asked, from the bathroom door.

Harry didn’t wait a beat, peeling off his shirt as he walked in after her.

/ / / / / / / / /

Katie sat next to Draco on the couch that was usually his bed.

As they were no longer covered in blood, the distance between them grew, became a chasm.

“Are you alright?” Draco finally asked.

Katie nodded. “Just a small scar,” she said, raising her neck for him to see. “Gives me character and such.”

Draco smiled. He stretched his shirt collar just a bit lower, revealing his own healed scar tissue right beside his clavicle. “So much character.”

“Aren’t we a pair,” she said, bitterly. She looked away. “How about not getting any more scars for a few years now?”

Draco gave her a dry laugh. “Sounds like a lovely plan. Those, however, tend to not work out.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes.

Then, Katie scooted closer to Draco. “Do you think this is real?” she asked.

Draco didn’t turn to look at her. “No,” he replied.

Katie placed her hand on Draco’s. He didn’t say anything, but he turned his palm to face hers, and threaded his fingers through hers. The touch was comforting, and warm, and it felt like forgiveness.

They stayed like that for an hour, until Luna’s chimes of apparition rang in the foyer.

/ / / / / / / / / /

They sat around the table, a small council of sorts. Hermione sat at the head of the table, flanked by Harry and Draco, her ever-vigilant guard. Luna sat at the other end.

Luna touched the table. It felt solid, and real. “Well, I’ve always known something was strange,” she said. “Reality is just a construct.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

“What did you do with…” Draco trailed off. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

Neville drummed his fingers on the questionably-existing table. “Kingsley placed him under a strong incarceration charm and gave him a strong sleeping draught. He should be out for at least a day.” Neville shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Draco replied. He really didn’t. “If this is not reality then, no, I guess it doesn’t.”

Luna looked from Draco to Harry, then back. “Maybe it does matter. Maybe you’re here to learn something.”

“Like what? My father’s a bastard? Because I knew that since I was about thirteen,” Draco countered. “Didn’t need a convoluted dream to dive deeper into the mess that is my upbringing."

Luna shook her head. “I meant that maybe you’re here to learn something about yourself. Well, about yourselves.”

Hermione looked at Luna intently. “That makes sense. I think. I’m very confused. But I have a plan?”

“Are you asking or are you telling?” Seamus asked. “It feels odd, discussing if we’re real.”

“We’re real,” Katie argued. “Just, maybe not this version of us. Or maybe there’s more than one reality. Maybe there are millions of us.”

“I have a headache,” Lee mumbled. “If you guys wake up, let me know about the whole radio equipment thing. This non-existent version of me has really enjoyed being good at something.”

Harry nodded solemnly, almost like a promise. 

He looked back to Hermione. “The plan?” he asked.

“Yes, right.” She wrung her hands nervously. Harry placed a hand over hers, and she smiled back at him, her lips pressed together in worry. “I think we have to go back to the Ministry. To the Department of Dreams.”

Draco groans and drops his head in his hands. “That woman… she didn’t seem all there.”

“I have a feeling that once you tell her why you’re looking for her, she won’t think you’re all there either,” Katie added. Draco gave her a withering glare, then stuck his tongue out at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I already owled her. Said we’d be in tomorrow morning,” Hermione said.

Harry looked at his friends around the table. “It’s really fucking late. And I don’t know about you, but I’m really fucking hungry.”

“And, apparently, really into the word ‘fucking’,” Draco pointed out. Harry glared.

Luna smiled widely. “Oh, we brought pizza.” Luna waved her wand and the pizza boxes flew out from the kitchen and settled onto the table.

“We could have been solving the world’s problems eating pizza, but we were just going about it without?” Katie complained, opening the box marked vegetarian and digging in.

Luna shrugged. “I forgot.”

“You’re brilliant, Luna,” Harry declared, and Neville raised a slice of pizza, as if to toast. “You are all brilliant,” Harry added.

“Just remember your friends when you wake up,” Seamus called out, eliciting laughs from everyone. “You too, Malfoy.” Seamus slapped Draco’s back, a little harder than was called for.

“I will,” Draco whispered, exchanging glances with Harry. Harry gave him a short nod and a smile.

They ate, voices rising and falling, raucous laughter filling the night.

/ / / / / / / / /

Luna, Neville, Lee and Seamus turned in early, moving towards their rooms with heavy limbs.

Hermione and Harry stepped out onto the small yard, huddled against the cool night air. They looked up at the stars, holding each other tightly.

“I wonder how much of this is in your mind and how much in Draco’s,” Hermione said, pressing her hand into Harry’s.

“This must be mine,” he whispered, pointing up at the stars. “I used to come out here, those weeks when we were holed up here with the Order. I’d look up and try to count the stars, just to keep my mind off of things. I was so angry back then.”

Hermione glanced back towards the kitchen, where Katie and Draco worked diligently, washing and drying in turn. “How much will you remember, when you wake up? How much of this will you keep?”

“Everything,” Harry said, and he leaned in to kiss Hermione softly. “What do you want to do?”

She laughed softly. “I want to sleep. I know it sounds stupid, but this is a very tiring dream.”

“I know what you mean.”

He gently pulled at her hand and led her back into the house and up the stairs to their room.

/ / / / / / / / / /

When the last of the dishes were washed and dried, Draco felt a prickle in his hands. He gripped the edge of the sink tightly and took a deep breath as Katie put the dishes away in their respective cupboards.

“Do you think that you’ll forgive me?” he asked, a little louder than he had meant to.

Katie stopped, her hands playing with the edge of the plate she was holding. “You mean the real me. When you wake up.”

“Is that offensive? To treat you as if you’re not you?” Draco wondered out loud. “I’m not entirely certain what the etiquette is.”

Katie’s laugh was loud and incongruous. “I think it won’t be fast and it won’t be easy. Forgiveness rarely is. And if this is a dream then your subconscious has made me very wise.”

“My subconscious is a bit of an asshole, really, so I’m surprised it allowed you to forgive me in here anyway.”

Katie rested the plate on the counter and closed the distance between them. “I think your subconscious thought you needed a break.”

Draco turned to face her, giving her as much of a smile as he could muster. “I think back to who I was that year, how scared I was, how stupid I was, how much I hurt you… and I just want to take it all back. I want to erase it all.”

“The past can’t be erased. It can only be atoned for,” Katie said. She took Draco’s hand in hers. “When you see me again, try not to be a complete bellend.”

Draco laughed, loud and full of a particular kind of joy. “I will try.”

“Good.” Katie leaned in. “I don’t think it’s fair to whoever we’ll be when we meet again, if this is all in your head, to really kiss you right now.” She brushed his lips with hers, softly, and backed away. “You’ll thank me later.”

Draco exhaled sharply. “I don’t know about that,” he whispered. He pressed his forehead against hers and smiled. “You are very weird. I hope you are just this weird in real life.”

“See what I mean about being a bellend? Try to not say things like that,” she said.

And then she hugged him tightly, and held on for a long, long time.

/ / / / / / / / /

Harry didn’t sleep that night.

He held Hermione close, and watched her sleep, feeling like a bit of an idiot.

It felt real, this whole experience. Aside from the astounding amount of good luck they had faced, the excess of serendipity, something rang true.

Hermione. Draco. The helpful hand of friends. The independence.

And his wishes for the future.

Peace. He craved peace.

And lying here with Hermione, listening to her soft breathing, this was peace.

He wanted to hold on to the moment, to the feeling. He wanted to keep it.

“How much will you remember?” she had asked. Harry memorized the way the moonlight touched her face, how her hair felt brushing against his cheek, the weight of her on his chest. He took it all in, the scent of her shampoo, the soft noises, the curve of her thigh hidden in his oversized t-shirt. He would remember it all. And if he didn’t, he would make it his life’s work to bring this moment to life again.

If he was going to wake up, he was never going to sleepwalk through life again. He wasn’t going to allow life to just happen to him. He was going to take charge.

He kissed Hermione’s forehead softly and closed his eyes, attempting sleep as dawn arrived.

/ / / / / / / / / /

They said no goodbyes.

Draco, Harry and Hermione apparated from 12 Grimmauld Place to just outside the main entrance of the Ministry of Magic.

Draco shivered. Hermione held Harry’s hand tightly.

They stepped in through the doors and into the Atrium. The usual bustle was missing, a steady stream of wizards was going through a portal that shimmered green.

“New wards,” Hermione whispered. One by one, wizards and witches walked by the shimmering wall of light which would either let them through or not. Those who could not pass were taken away by Aurors to a door that Harry had never seen before.

Harry, Hermione and Draco walked through the wards without a hitch and made their way to the elevators. Draco snorted softly as he pressed the button.

“What?” Harry asked, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Padma and Parvati leading an army of magical creatures out of the elevators,” Draco said. “We probably should have known it was all a dream right then and there.”

Harry shrugged. “To be honest, it’s not the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me in this building.”

They made it to the Department of Mysteries, where everything was silent and empty.

“Figures,” Hermione said. She sighed and pushed open the door to the Room of Dreams.

Inside, Adora Perkins was waiting for them.

“Oh, good, you’re on time,” she said. She waved her wand once, and two beds appeared beside her. “We should get right on it.”

Harry and Draco exchanged glances and, with deep breaths, stepped inside.

/ / / / / / / /

The room was cold and very white. The filing cabinets and other office furniture had somehow been glamoured out of sight, and all that remained were the beds and two chairs.

Draco and Harry each sat on one bed, legs dangling over the side. Adora walked around the now virtually-empty room, calling forth vials and bottles, mixing and re-mixing. Then, without another word, she took a seat in the empty chair next to Hermione.

“So… I guess sixty-percent was a low-ball estimate,” Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes.

Adora pursed her lips, but then smiled. “Yes, well, I did say it was not precise.”

“What now?” Draco asked.

Adora looked to Hermione first. “Are you sure you want to be here for this? I mean, we are more than likely just constructs of their subconscious minds, but it must be very uncomfortable to witness, this.”

Hermione nodded confident. “I’m sure,” she said. “I’m here to see it through.”

“Alright,” Adora said, placing quill to parchment. “I need you to tell me about the dream. The combined dream. Every detail you can recall. And then I will put you into a deep sleep and you will go into that dream. If our studies are correct, and they very well may not be, when you finish what needs to be done in the recurring dream, you should wake in your reality.” She smiled up at Harry and Draco. “Any questions?”

Harry raised a hand, sheepish. “What needs to be done?”

“Yes. The dream is a mission, I presume?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, you must complete it.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Right. What do you mean when you say your studies may not be correct?”

“Are either of you experts in dream analysis and the magic of dreams?” Adora asked, rhetorically. “No? Didn’t think so. If I am a construct limited by your very limited knowledge of dreams, then it stands to reason that what I am saying may also be just… an invention.”

“I think I’m starting to get a headache,” Draco muttered.

“I’m starting to miss Divination,” Harry replied softly.

Adora tapped her quill on her parchment. “Best no to think about it too much. It will either work or it won’t.” She shrugged. “So… The dream,” she said.

And Harry and Draco told her everything.

About the beating heart. And the snake. And the glass case. About their gaping chests and the Patronuses. About the wands and Hermione. About waking up being the other.

About dreams that were nightmares and enemies that were friends.

Adora took notes without a word. Hermione kept her hands on her lap and her eyes trained on Harry.

When they finished, Adora let her quill rest on the parchment and nodded curtly. “You should say your goodbyes now. I’ll give you a minute. Then you’ll have to take the potion and it’s best if you do it alone. The room will act as a sensory deprivation chamber.”

Hermione approached Draco’s bed first. “Take care of him,” she said, and surrounded him in the most violent hug Draco had ever experienced. He could feel the breath being pushed out of him by the sheer force.

“Good grief, Granger, that should be illegal,” he said. She let go of him and punched his arm.

“You better call me Hermione, when we see each other again. Not right at the start, but eventually. Promise.”

He nodded. “I promise. And I’ll make sure Potter doesn’t do anything incredibly stupid.”

She leaned in and whispered something in Draco’s ear. He laughed heartily. “Alright. I promise that, too.”

Harry arched a questioning eyebrow at Hermione. She waved it away.

Harry stood from the bed and welcomed a softer hug from Hermione. He kissed her hair, her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose. He had memorized her in the moonlight the night before, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

“I’m not saying goodbye,” Hermione said, holding back tears. “I’ll see you when you wake up. You know I’ll be right there. And then…”

“Then I’ll have to convince you to break up with Ron and give me a chance,” Harry offered. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her full on the lips, a lingering kiss that reminded him of the first time he’d taken the chance. “Perfect, dammit.”

She smiled. “Kiss the girl. Seize the day.”

“I love you,” he whispered.

“You are not making me cry. I love you, too, you brave idiot.”

Harry laughed and kissed her one more time. “I’ll see you when we wake up.”

Hermione nodded. She kissed the knuckles on the hand that held hers. And then she slipped away from his touch and walked out the door. She didn’t look back, and her dark curls disappeared from view a few seconds after.

Adora placed a potion vial in Harry’s hand, and one in Draco’s.

“Take it when you’re ready.” She gave them one last kind smile. “If this works, and if I exist in your reality, it would be lovely if you could let me know about this. I’m sure I am very discreet in reality.”

Harry nodded, his mind still on Hermione’s retreating figure.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

And she stepped out of the room.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

Draco and Harry faced each other, glancing from their vials to each other.

“So…” Draco started.

“So…” Harry mimicked.

“Katie almost kissed me. Sort of. I think,” Draco said.

Harry laughed, merriment spreading to his eyes. “You are something else, Draco.”

“I just thought, who knows how much we’ll remember, after. Maybe telling makes it more real.”

“Maybe,” Harry concurred.

Draco took out the Tamagotchi and laid it on the bed beside him. The tiny toy, cracked and somehow still functioning, looked out of place in the middle of this strange room they were in. But Draco patted it softly, as if saying goodbye to a real pet.

It belonged here. It would stay here.

“It’s been an experience, being your friend, Potter… Harry.” Draco extended a hand to Harry.

Harry took Draco’s hand and shook it firmly. “Likewise.” He gave Draco a quirk of a smile. “Now let’s go slay a Giant Snake.”

“Yes, great, another life-threatening adventure,” Draco said. He held his vial up in a toast. “Bottoms up.”

“See you on the other side,” Harry said, raising his vial in tandem.

They both drank deeply.

And the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally caught up with myself between posting and writing, which is why these chapters are taking a bit longer to get published. Hopefully I'll get some time this week to crack on with writing the next one. Again, thank you so much for reading, I've gotten some lovely feedback and I always enjoy hearing from you all.


	15. Chapter 15

The darkness became cold, and the cold became the sound of water dripping and sliding down black walls.

Harry opened his eyes. He felt around him for his glasses and pushed them on, but the only thing that changed was that the darkness became sharper. He sat up. There was a particular smell in the air, a cold, damp feeling crawling up his arms. He felt around for his wand, and was relieved to find it still in his pocket.

“Draco?” he asked.

“Over here,” came Draco’s voice, a harsh hiss. “Can’t see as far as my elbow.”

Harry whispered a Lumos charm and the tip of his wand emitted a soft bluish glow. “Do you have your wand?”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Draco pulled his wand out and cast a Lumos as well.

They could see each other now, and their surroundings seemed to drift into focus. The light from their wands reflected off the smooth black walls. Harry stood, his foot slipping beneath him. He steadied himself. Malfoy attempted the same, his shoes skating over the rock. The cave floor beneath them was smoothed by the trickling of water. Maybe this had gone on for hundreds of years. Maybe it was the blink of an eye. Harry wondered how long dreams actually lasted, but he didn’t let his mind dwell for too long.

“Think we’ll each get our own personal snake, or will we have to share?” Draco asked, bemused.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, but there was not anger in it.

They walked together, wands out, towards the center of the chamber.

“Do you remember the way?” Harry could feel the chill down his spine.

“We go right,” Draco replied, taking two steps to stay ahead of Harry. He would guide.

/ / / / / / /

The dark corridors extended forever.

Guided by the light of his wand, Draco took tentative steps. Staying upright was an imperative, and the floor was slippery, as if it had been soaped up just for them.

“I miss Granger,” Draco confessed.

Harry tried not to laugh. “That so?”

“She would have a map of this bloody place in her purse and you know it. Also, snacks. She would have snacks.” Draco slipped. He reached out to the wall and steadied himself.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Harry asked.

Draco scowled. “Yes. Just not now.”

Harry stared up ahead. “Shh…”

“You sshhhh.”

“I think I heard something.”

Draco did quiet down at that.

They softened their footsteps. The sound was a slow and steady drip. Draco knelt down, remembering what Katie had done outside the Manor, in the Glamour. The floor was wet, a small stream of water flowing towards their feet. Draco pointed the wand at the floor and the reflection of the water amplified their vision. “A mile, maybe,” Draco whispered. “Maybe less.”

Harry nodded. He took over the lead, wand drawn and ready. Their footsteps splashed water onto their ankles. No matter how high Draco held his wand, there was still darkness up ahead.

The tunnel widened as they advanced. “I don’t remember this,” Harry muttered.

Draco couldn’t remember it either.

They walked for what seemed like forever, until the widening mouth of the tunnel gave way to a cavernous chamber.

Harry pressed his back against the wall of the tunnel and whispered to kill the light from his wand. Draco did the same.

They allowed their eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, and soon enough, they could see the glistening walls giving way to reflecting pools of soft light. There were small torches lit around the chamber, but they were so few and far between that they hardly gave off any light. There was something, an opening, that allowed the light from the moon to filter in and fill the room with just enough clarity.

Draco’s impulse was to step forward, but Harry’s hand pressed against his chest. Draco could see Harry shaking his head no, cautioning him to stay still. And then Harry turned to face the chamber.

Draco heard it before he saw it: it was a chilling sound, the slither of scales against slippery rock, the wet hiss. His mouth went dry.

Harry’s hand kept Draco pressed against the rock and out of sight alongside him. Harry pressed a finger to his lips instructing Draco to keep quiet and very, very still.

Draco kept repeating to himself that it was just a dream, but it echoed in his mind and then dissipated. No matter what he knew, this… it felt real, it smelled real. The fear he could feel pounding against his head was real. His heart thumping in his chest was real.

The sound of Harry’s breathing was real, close as it was, and at least he knew he wasn’t alone.

They exchanged sideways glances. Plotting in silence was complicated. Potter raised a hand, indicating for Draco to go right. But then he seemed to change his mind. He leaned in to Draco and whispered in his ear. “Serendipity.”

Draco shot Potter – it was Potter in these circumstances, especially when he was being circuitous – a warning glance. It was a look that said, _“you’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”_ , but it apparently failed to communicate it strongly enough.

Potter stepped out of the shadows and Draco could only do the same. He grabbed Potter’s wrist and leaned in to him, “I promised you wouldn’t die, so you better not make me go back on that promise.”

Harry smiled. “Wands out.”

Potter pointed his wand at the chamber, at the unknown. Draco did the same, because he just knew.

They chanted the Patronus incantation at the same time, their voices booming in the chamber. The stag that emanated from Harry’s wand galloped around the room, bright and solid. From Draco’s wand, a large Welsh Green flew towards the back of the chamber, ice-blue fire shooting from its nostrils.

Draco crossed his fingers and hoped.

Harry suddenly felt it: the memory, tangible. “We know this,” he said, a smile. And Draco understood as well. Watching their respective Patronuses move through the room, lighting up the walls and revealing the slimy black creature that stared back at them, Draco knew. They had done this before, a thousand times, with varying results.

They were ready.

“No sword this time,” Draco noted.

Harry nodded. “No glass box, either.”

“Just us against the thing.” Draco held up his wand. “I can do that.”

“We can do that,” Potter corrected.

“Yes, of course, team work, hurrah.” Draco watched their Patronuses fade into mist, and the chamber was dark again. The slither of the advancing snake was stark and clear. “Now?”

“Now.”

And they stepped out of the tunnel, wands blazing. He didn’t quite hear Potter’s incantation, he cast an exploding hex for good measure. The light left his wand towards the wall of the cave, missing the snake.

“I don’t see it!” Harry called.

“Call it!” Draco instructed.

And Harry paused.

He focused on the tip of his wand, and the language came back to him.

Draco tried not to cringe at the sound of Parseltongue. Even if he could not understand it, he knew that Potter was summoning the snake.

“Avoid its eyes,” Potter said, but Draco knew that it wasn’t as easy as that.

Draco conjured a soft mist that enveloped them both, then turned his back against Potter’s. “This is our best shot,” he muttered.

Harry nodded. “I used to go to Sunday school after church. I don’t remember much, but I remember this _: What has happened before will happen again. What has been done before will be done again. There is nothing new in the whole world._ ”

“How is that helpful?” Draco asked.

Potter shrugged. “I think we can win this because we’ve already won this. I know, I remember.”

“Maybe it isn’t about winning.”

Harry pondered that for a second. “When it comes, it will try to convince us. Don’t let it.”

“When it comes, I am going to pummel that snake into shoe-leather. I don’t speak its language, it cannot touch me.”

“Draco…” Harry started, but the rumble of the rocks under their feet told them that the snake was there, approaching, arriving.

Harry hissed at it once more, speaking the language of snakes, a language that Draco could never understand.

They turned in a slow circle, attempting to catch the snake before it caught them, under the translucid mist.

And then Draco saw it. A glimpse of scales brushing past his feet. Then the copper eyes on his.

Draco inhaled sharply. The snake spoke to him, in a low hiss. “Come,” it said. And Draco though, for a moment, _why not?_

But he could feel Potter’s back pressed against his, and the vibration of Potter’s own hisses, his own snake-words against the copper eyes.

Potter was saying “No”. He was saying it in the most foreign way possible, but Draco knew it, he could sense it. Potter was bargaining with the snake.

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off the coppery, glassy snake eyes, but his hands were free. He could move, he could move.

He fought against his own muscles to raise his wand hand. It felt as if his arm was shattering from the effort, twisting at odd angles trying to prevent the movement. A roar left Draco’s throat, so raw he couldn’t recognize his own voice in it.

And Harry… Harry was doing the same. He was raising his hand to the snake, raising his wand, screaming loud snake words at the creature that was breathing against their faces. Draco could feel the flicker of the snake’s tongue on his neck, and he shivered, but he kept roaring and his hand kept lifting until his hand and Potter’s were level.

“Vipera Evanesca!” they both screamed, loud and clear, their voices booming inside the chamber, echoing off the walls.

The serpent shrieked and rose into the air, dropping to the stone floor and disappearing.

“Fuck,” Draco said, and Harry could only agree. “Well, Severus would be very proud.”

Harry nodded. He knelt down where the serpent had last been, running his fingers over the slippery stones. “That was… anticlimactic.”

“Most things are,” Draco argued, with a soft shrug. But he was shivering wildly.

“What now?” Harry asked, more to himself that to Draco.

“There has to be a door.” Draco started running his hands up and down the dripping walls.

And then it began. The water started to slide down the walls at greater speed. No longer a trickle but a river, Draco felt the water running over his fingers. “Uh, Harry?”

Harry noticed it, too, the water pooling at his feet, rushing down the rocks, louder and louder. “What. The. Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Draco shone his wand to find where the water was coming from or where they should go. But the water seemed to come from everywhere, everyplace, every wall, it rushed from the tunnel they had come from. It filled the chamber quickly, too quickly, and the water was soon up to their knees, then their chests.

“We swim?” Harry suggested.

“We swim,” Draco agreed.

It took only a few minutes for the water to become deep enough to float. “Bubble-head charm,” Harry added.

Draco nodded, as the water pushed them towards the ceiling of the chamber, black rock getting closer and closer. Harry cast the charm on himself; Draco followed suit.

“It won’t hold too long,” Draco said, his voice muffled by the bubble.

“It will hold,” Harry argued, with a dull echo. They treaded water in the darkness.

Draco spotted it first. A flicker of moonlight to their right. He grabbed Harry’s shoulder and pointed. Harry didn’t see it right away, so Draco just dragged him to his position and pointed again. In the distance, light was bouncing off the water. Light that wasn’t coming from their wands.

“Let’s go,” Harry mouthed. The water was pressing them up against the ceiling and this was better than no plan at all. Harry began to swim, diving in and out as long as there was still a bit of air. He tried to remain calm, remember that it was still part of a dream, but the rushing water and the sensation of air being restricted didn’t help. He tried to remember his childhood swimming lessons, and the lake, and he tried to forget the merpeople and whoever lived in the deep.

Draco followed close behind, swimming much more gracefully than Harry. In a few minutes, the water had reached the ceiling and they were completely submerged. Harry’s glasses floated off and out of the bubble, and he couldn’t hold onto them. Everything became blurrier, but he could still sense the light streaming through.

Draco took a hold of his hand and pulled him in the right direction. They swam harder, faster, Draco’s free hand creating sufficient drag for them both to move quicker. They were close, so close, and Harry could feel the bubble-head charm was starting to fade. He kicked harder, with all his strength, and soon it was him that was pulling Draco along, faster and faster towards the light, until it was above them.

He pushed upwards, and Draco started kicking harder as well, taking one last deep breath as the Bubble-Head Charm disappeared and the water started to try and rush into their noses. Harry’s lungs burned and he could feel his mind becoming cloudy. His heart was pumping so fast, too fast, like it was going to break out of his chest and kill him, and he would be left there with a beating heart in his hand and a gaping hole in his chest, just like all the nightmares.

He shook his head and pushed through the fog, and swam like his life depended on it, because maybe it did.

At last he could feel the surface getting closer and he could see Draco struggling, his eyes fluttering. He pushed Draco with all his strength, giving him the impulse to reach the surface.

Finally, Harry could feel the light right there, blurry in his eyes, and he pushed through the surface and inhaled deeply, gasping for air like a madman, hearing the desperate gulps and coughs coming from Draco, and his eyes were shut tight against the light and then he could breathe, he could breathe again and he opened his eyes and cried out in despair and relief. He could breathe. They were alive.

Harry gasped.

/ / / / / / / /

Harry gasps and looks up.

Above him, he can see a familiar structure, a ceiling he has stared at for many days and many nights.

His hands move of their own accord, patting at his own chest. He is dry. He is… wearing pyjamas.

He is home.

He is in the Hospital Wing again.

He touches his face but finds no beard. He isn’t wearing his glasses. His scar is still there. He is… alive? Awake. He is awake. He clears his throat and attempts to lift himself up to sit, but finds that his own weight is too heavy. He opens his mouth and finds it dry and lacking. “Help,” he whispers. And then to his right he hears the clatter of a book sliding and slamming against the floor, the rustle of clothes and Hermione… Hermione’s kind face, just barely out of focus, looking down at him with the shiniest eyes.

“Harry? Harry, oh, Morgana, Harry? You’re awake!” she fusses, running her fingers over his forehead, and then pressing her hand against his heart. “You’re awake,” she repeats, and Harry can see her mind working out a million different scenarios, if she should stay, if she should tell Madam Pomfrey, if she should run and tell everyone in school, if she should just check again.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispers, and that is surely something Hermione hadn’t been expecting, but Harry sees her look up, to Harry’s left and sure enough, as he slowly turns his head, he sees Draco’s grey eyes, blurry in his view, but open.

“Merlin’s fucking underpants,” Hermione whispers, and Harry wants to laugh but all he can do is cough, and he can hear Draco taking in huge gulps of air as well. “Don’t you fucking dare fall asleep again, I’ll be right back with Madam Pomfrey.”

And he can hear her shoes thumping and squeaking and sliding as she rushes over to Madam Pomfrey’s office.

Harry can hear the rustle, but over it all, he can hear Draco’s voice, trying to say something, but unable to. “It’s ok,” Harry tries to whisper, his voice soft and low and filled with unbearable pain. He wants to say more, but he can’t, he simply can’t. He is fighting to keep his eyes open, because Hermione’s words were a warning and he does not want to be on the wrong end of her anger.

Madam Pomfrey rushes over to Harry, he hears her footsteps and then Hermione’s and soon they are both surrounding him and looking him over with worried eyes, as far as he can tell, worried blurry eyes and he wishes again for his glasses but cannot ask for them.

He tries once more to speak, and this time he makes it through the pain so it is loud. Louder, in any case. “I’m ok. Draco…”

And Madam Pomfrey tears her eyes away from Harry to Draco, who is blinking and slamming a hand against his mattress, almost petulantly trying to get their attention. Hermione stays beside Harry, her hand has taken his and she is squeezing it with such force he is sure she is breaking his bones, but he doesn’t care, because he can touch her, she is real, and so is Draco and this bed and everything swirls around him and he feels dizzy.

“Mister Malfoy is also fine,” Madam Pomfrey says, more to Hermione but Harry smiles a bit, just a bit, even though he can feel his dry lips cracking with the movement, can almost taste the blood from his split skin. “You both gave us quite a scare,” Madam Pomfrey adds, and then Hermione is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and Harry can finally see the tears in Hermione’s eyes.

“You idiot,” she whispers, holding his hand even harder, if that’s possible. Harry turns to look at Draco, who is disheveled and gaunt and somehow completely himself, but the disdain is gone. Harry tries to hold on to the memory of the dream, to keep it close. With great difficulty he extends a hand towards Draco’s bed, and Draco tries to do the same. Their hands do not touch, but Draco understands and Harry can see he is relieved. They both remember, at least for now.

He closes his eyes and allows for the medical fussing and prodding to begin and he is grateful because he feels the pain, which means he is here, he is alive, he is awake.

/ / / / / / / / /

There is a procession of people, well-wishers and teachers, some friends and even Filch, they somehow manage to come into the Hospital Wing and leave cards and flowers, candy. Madam Pomfrey ushers them away when she catches them, but she seems too busy to actually catch them all. Ron and Ginny and Luna, Neville and Dean and Seamus. Harry sees their faces float in and out of view over what he thinks is the next few days, but he is unable to hold on to them. Draco gets one visitor, his Mother, once. Harry remembers seeing her flutter in and out of his eyeline, and he remembers her voice, reading maybe, or maybe singing.

Over the next few days Harry drifts in and out of sleep and doesn’t speak much. He feels sometimes that Madam Pomfrey is feeding him. At other times he can feel the clink of the bedpan and the cold metal against himself, but he ignores it.

He hangs on to the few times a day he looks over to Draco and sees him, struggling with whatever this is with about as much comprehension as he does, but he is comforted by the fact that neither is alone, even if they do not manage to say anything to one another.

He holds on to Hermione as well. She is here most of the time, either sleeping in her chair with a book in her hand, or telling him something that he cannot remember, and sometimes she is reading to him from a book that looks like a tome of fairy tales. Her voice is in his ears and his mind. She’s taken to sitting between Draco and Harry instead of her previous place to Harry’s right, and sometimes Harry thinks she’s not just talking to him, or not just reading to him. She’s also reading to Draco.

She does wake up at night, and she does seem to leave and go to her rooms at times, because he feels her soft lips on his forehead, or her fingers in his fringe.

Weeks go by, or so it seems, it could be hours, or days, Harry can’t tell anymore, but one day his throat no longer burns and words start to flow out. “Hermione,” he says, and she’s grinning like a madwoman, squeezing his hand again like the bone-breaker she is.

“Harry,” she says, and there is so much relief in her voice.

“Draco?” he asks, and he’s surprised when Draco himself responds.

“Honestly, Potter, be more articulate,” Draco says, and Harry realizes that Draco is doing better than he is at… this being sick thing.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he manages, and Draco laughs from his bed. Harry looks over and Draco is propped up on pillows against the headboard and he is sipping water through a straw. “When did you get better?” Harry asks, trying to sit up and failing.

“A few days ago,” Hermione answers, scowling at Draco a bit. She fears the return of their antagonism, because she doesn’t understand and Harry can’t explain it now. “You look better,” she tells Harry, and brushes his fringe out of his eyes.

“I… feel… better,” he says, and the words roll slowly off his tongue, but roll they do.

And she gives him the warmest, most genuine smile he has ever seen, even in the dream she never smiled like this, he thinks. And he can feel the dream fading into the background of his mind as he holds onto Hermione’s hand with matching force, willing her to stay.

“I have to go to class, but I’ll be back in a few hours,” she says. Harry nods. She glances at Draco and says, “Behave.”

Harry turns to watch Draco give her a stern military salute. Then he turns again to watch her leave.

There is silence, punctuated by the noise of Draco sucking on his straw, then absently biting it.

“Potter,” Draco says.

“Yes?” Harry asks.

“Do you remember?”

Harry nods against his pillow. “But it’s fading away.”

“Every day it gets blurrier,” Draco agrees. He leaves the cup on the side table and slides on the sheets until he is lying down, facing Harry. “What if we forget?” And Harry can see the worry in Draco’s eyes, he can see what Draco is afraid to lose.

“You are my friend,” Harry says.

And Draco nods, breathing a sigh of relief. “You are my friend,” Draco repeats, and allows himself to fall asleep. Harry does the same.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

Harry thinks it’s two days later when he can finally sit up and drink juice from a straw. By this time, Draco is already beginning to walk tentatively, aided by a metallic walker. “I look like my grandfather,” Draco complains, nose wrinkled.

Harry shrugs. “At least you’re not still using the bedpans.” His voice is stronger now, and Draco catches the humor in his voice, even if there is little of it.

“Yes, well, patience has never been your strongest quality.”

Hermione comes by often, and she raises her eyebrow at Harry and Draco’s interactions. “You seem… friendly,” she says, and Harry shrugs.

By the time Harry is sleeping less and standing again, stiff joints and trembling legs, he is ready for the story. Hermione hasn’t wanted to tell them, saying Madam Pomfrey had recommended against it. But both him and Draco can sit up now, and they both can eat on their own, mostly, and they are getting better. The sounds of reconstruction from the rest of the building are constant and unyielding, and if Harry doesn’t get answers he will fling himself out of the window just to figure out what is going on. Draco somewhat mirrors the sentiment, with surprisingly less of a dramatic streak.

Hermione sighs and sits between them as they sip cups of tea to chase down the flavor of Madam Pomfrey’s healing potions. She’s getting used to the new reality that everything she tells Harry ends up with Malfoy being part of the conversation, and it’s easier this way, Harry thinks. They both need the information, and lord knows very few people are willing to actually talk at Malfoy, much less to him. Madam Pomfrey does her best to include him, as does McGonnagal, but so far Draco has had few visitors and even fewer answers.

“Alright,” she says. “What’s the last thing you remember?” The question is aimed at Harry, so Harry answers.

“We fixed my wand with the Elder Wand. We destroyed the Elder Wand. And then I remember being very tired and… wanting to sit down somewhere.”

“There was more,” Hermione says. “You… you sat down and you closed your eyes, and you were falling asleep, but then you stood, you’d just thought of something. And you began to look around the Great Hall and you spotted Malfoy with his parents. And you just strode on over to him and offered up his wand to him. And then…” She turns to Malfoy then, trying on a pursed-lip smile for him. “You took hold of the wand, and you were both touching it and something… happened. No one knows exactly what. We just saw the flash of light and you were both on the ground.”

She looks back to Harry. “We thought you were dead, maybe hexed, maybe that Malfoy had done something.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Granger,” Malfoy says, leaving his tea on the side table.

“Oh, do shut up, Malfoy,” Hermione says, a bit unkindly. “What were we supposed to think?”

“But you don’t think that, anymore,” Harry points out.

“No.” Hermione flushes slightly. “Ollivander checked the wand. Both your wands. There weren’t any curses or hexes directed toward one another. Ollivander said…”

“Ollivander is a right bastard,” Draco says. Harry nods in agreement.

Hermione continues. “He said something about wand ownership and wand law and something cryptic about wand malfunction, but you know how he is: Can’t ever give a straight answer. The conclusion was your wands did it. Somehow. Nobody really knows how.”

“Did what exactly?” Harry asks.

“They killed you.” She pauses, but quickly continues after their mouths drop open. “For just a few seconds. I know CPR,” she declares proudly. “And did you know Madame Pomfrey is also a registered nurse, like a Muggle Registered Nurse?”

Harry smiles softly. “I did not know that.”

“Well, she is. Which was lucky for the revival portion of the events that evening.” Hermione is keeping her chin up and trying to inject some levity into the situation. “But we didn’t know if you’d wake up, or when. It’s been a weird few weeks. It’s June 15th.”

“Happy late birthday to me,” Draco mutters.

Hermione shoots him a look. “I’ll get you cake if you shut up.”

“You’re brilliant,” Harry blurts out and Hermione archs an eyebrow at him. “I mean, the CPR,” he corrects quickly.

“Yes, well, I took a class. You know, my parents.” She motions at the air above her head. “Madam Pomfrey says you’re both progressing marvelously and that you’ll soon be alright to leave.”

Draco has a feeling his part in the conversation is up, and he stands and takes a hold of his walker. “Please excuse me while I pop in to the loo.”

Hermione gives Draco the strangest look, but doesn’t give him much thought as she watches him amble away. “He’s just so weird these days,” she tells Harry.

“He’s alright,” Harry offers. “He’s had some time to think, I guess.”

“Or dream.” She narrows her eyes at Harry. “How about you? Did you dream while you were out?”

“A bit,” Harry lies. No point in telling her everything. At least, not just yet. “I haven’t seen much of Ron or Ginny,” he says, attempting to be casual.

“With Fred gone… They’ve been spending time at the Burrow. There are enough hands for the reconstruction, it’s good that they’re with their family.”

She avoids Harry’s eyes. She knows the question that is coming. “Your parents?”

“They can wait,” she says, and her eyes tell him that’s the end of that conversation, at least for now. “I have to get back to work.” She pats Harry’s hand softly. “I got the library. I’m helping Madam Pince get things back in order.”

“You love it,” Harry says, aware that his voice has just jumped an octave, like a pre-pubescent boy.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s dull work, but it’s books, so it’s alright.” She stands to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Say… say goodnight to Malfoy for me.”

“I will.” Harry watches her leave. When he turns away, he spots Draco looking at him knowingly from the bathroom door. “What?”

“You are going to tell her, I just know it,” Draco accuses. He walks slowly towards his bed. “You really are a sap, Potter.”

“What happened to using Harry?” Harry flops a pillow at Draco’s head.

Draco catches it and flings it back at him. “Harry is for when you deserve it, you tosser.”

“And I don’t, now?”

“Hardly at all.”

Harry drops back onto the bed. “I want to tell her so much, but she’ll think I’m mental.”

“Which you are.” Draco stares at the ceiling. “That would be like me trying to find Katie Bell and telling her I like her.”

“You do like her.”

“Not in this fucking reality.” Draco punches his pillow. “In this fucking reality, people think I chanced a murder attempt at you a mere hour after you killed the Dark Lord.”

“Yeah, well, can’t really blame them. They don’t know.”

“I know.”

“So do I.”

They lay there in silence, thinking about the life they dreamt and the life they’re living, until sleep grows heavy in their eyelids.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

The next morning Harry is woken up by the sounds of arguing, not so loud that it could be called fighting. It’s coming from Draco’s bed, and he turns to find that Narcissa Malfoy is pleading with Draco about something that Harry cannot quite understand, because they argue in heavy hisses, not by screaming.

“Mother, I already said no,” Draco whispers with what Harry knows is his last bit of patience.

“You must understand, Draco, it reflects poorly on your Father if you’re not there for the Trial,” she says, and her voice is shaky.

“He can just pretend that I’m still unconscious. I think it would reflect even more poorly if I were to testify against him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Narcissa dabs at her eyes. “He is your father.”

“He is a man who needs to understand the consequences of his actions. I will deal with the consequences of mine, but I will not be his prop.” Draco looks away from his mother and catches Harry watching him. “Maybe one day I’ll forgive him, but I can’t forget. No one should forget what happened in this war. If I can never do magic again, I will have deserved it.”

“You are a Malfoy,” Narcissa starts, but Draco holds up a hand.

“Oh, spare me ‘the last of the Malfoys’ bullshit. We should die out. What good have we done?” Draco knots his hands in his sheets. “I love you, Mother, but I am not going back to the Manor, I am not going to London to Father’s trial. I’ll understand if this is the last time we see each other. I hope it isn’t, but I can’t go back.”

“Draco…”

“I won’t go back, Mother.” Draco stands with great care and takes hold of his walker. “I’ll see you out.”

Narcissa purses her lips. “That will not be necessary. Goodbye, Draco.”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

Draco watches Narcissa walk away, and Harry can hear her heels clicking all the way down the corridor outside, and down the stairs.

“How much of that did you catch?” Draco asks Harry.

“I woke up right in the thick of it,” Harry confesses, sitting up. “Sorry.”

Draco rubs the back of his neck and sits back down on the bed. “Now I officially have nowhere to go and nowhere to be.”

“You have this, here, Hogwarts. And then, who knows? I’m not quite sure of what I’ll be doing myself.” Harry plays with the frayed edge of his blanket.

“You’re Harry Potter. The world is an open book, full of possibilities,” Draco says, bitterly. “I’m an ex-death eater with no real life-skills. Except driving, which I learned in a dream.”

Harry laughs. “Shut up and stop the self-pity. And let me borrow your walker. I really need to take a piss.”

Draco pushes the walker towards Harry. “Go right ahead. Just watch your aim.”

Harry gives Draco a one-finger salute and ambles away towards the bathroom, pushing the walker along.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

“And so then we stabbed it with a basilisk fang,” Hermione’s voice says, bringing Harry out of sleep. He’s been sleeping a lot, and sleeping well, and Madam Pomfrey has said in repeated occasions that this is healthy, and to be expected. But Harry just keeps missing half of all conversations that are taking place around him, and he finds it a bit annoying.

“You and Weasley?” Draco asks.

“Yes, Ron and I,” Hermione replies, indignant. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s hard for me to believe that you two would ever stop arguing long enough to actually put a plan into action,” Draco comments.

Hermione swats his arm hard. “Well, we did.”

“Granger, the violence. I am disowned and destitute. Please refrain.”

Harry laughs softly at this, and Hermione turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” Harry says, just as Draco offers, “He loves to eavesdrop.”

Hermione rolls her eyes at them both. “I just came to tell you that Ron and Ginny are coming by tomorrow. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Oh.” Harry tries not to sound too disappointed. He’s been enjoying the little bubble they’ve been in.

“Yes. They were by before, but you were pretty out of it.”

“I remember, sort of.” Harry squares up. “Hermione, do you think I could talk to you… in private?”

Harry gives Draco a pointed glance.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Just cast a Silencio.”

“I’m taking your walker,” Harry declares.

Hermione shrugs. “Yeah, sure. We can go out to the corridor, no one will come by at this time of night.” Hermione pushes her hands into her jeans pockets and tries to resist the urge to help Harry walk. He stubbornly holds on to the walker and starts slowly towards the door.

“Cast a Silencio anyway,” Draco calls after them, but Harry ignores him. Hermione keeps pace with Harry, and Harry knows she’s there to catch him, if need be.

They slowly make it to the large stone ledge of the stained-glass window. “This should be far enough,” Harry says. “Wanker,” he adds in Draco’s direction.

Harry lets his weight fall on the ledge and Hermione sits next to him. “So… you wanted to talk?” Hermione asks.

“Yes. No... I mean, yes, I have something I want to tell you.” Harry looks down at his hands, skin prickling with electricity, with being away from magic for almost two months. Then he looks back up at Hermione, and he feels brave, braver than he should.

“Well, out with it, then.” She gives him a nervous little smile. “No use dragging things out.”

He looks into her eyes, so earnest, so honest. He wants to tell her how he feels. He wants to explain the strange journey in his mind.

He leans in and kisses her.

It is messy and their teeth click and she pulls him closer by the neck and the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing her lower lip and a soft whimper on the back of her throat. But then she freezes and pushes him away by the chest. “Harry, what the fuck?”

“I…” he starts, but she swats his shoulder three times.

“You complete idiot!” she says. Her lips are swollen and her skin is flushed and she is looking at him trying to understand. “What did you do that for?”

He takes a deep shaky breath and leans in to kiss her again, and she lets him, allows the kiss to become more urgent, insistent, and she’s suddenly pressed against the wall and she pushes him back again. “No. No. You explain yourself, Harry Potter, you explain yourself now.”

“I love you,” he says, like a complete idiot she has already pegged him to be.

“Oh, no you don’t. That makes no sense. You are in love with Ginny. And I’m with Ron. This is ridiculous.”

He takes a shaky breath and takes her hands, and she seems for a moment like she wants to pull away, but she doesn’t. “When I was out, I had these dreams. And these past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot. And there has always been this constant in my life, and that is you. And I realized that I love you.”

“But… I’m with Ron,” she says, firmly. “You know I’m with Ron, he’s your best mate.”

“You’re my best mate.”

“Shut up. No. Explain.” She seems flustered, and her curls are escaping from her ponytail and he’s almost sure that is his fault.

“Look, I can’t explain it, I can’t justify it any better than that. I just… maybe you need time, because you haven’t… I can’t convince you. But I can hope that you will see it, too.”

Hermione looks at him with wide, confused eyes. “You put me in this impossible position, Harry. I’m with Ron. You were all but ready to declare your undying love for Ginny. Maybe… maybe you hit your head when the wands malfunctioned.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” Harry says. “At least, I don’t think I did.”

“You must have hit your head, why would you kiss me if not for brain damage?” Hermione asks, standing now, making calculations in her mind. “A concussion. Or… something different. Maybe genetic. Maybe when the Horcrux was destroyed you got your brain scrambled a bit.”

Harry tries to stifle a laugh. “Hermione, just stop. Please. I’m not brain damaged. I kissed you because you’re smart and beautiful and completely mental and I love you.”

“I am not mental.”

“You are, a bit, if you think my loving you was caused by a head injury.” Harry collects himself. He wants to fold Hermione into a hug, and tell her it will all be alright, but he knows that it is probably not the best idea at the moment. “Alright, let me put it this way. I had a dream, and in that dream we end up together. And I will do everything I can for that to happen. Because we were happy, despite everything. In the dream we belonged together. And I think that’s true here, as well.”

“That’s bollocks. I can’t argue logically against a dream,” she says, her voice rising in frustration.

“Then don’t.” He gives her his most charming smile.

“No. You don’t get to smile at me like that after… throwing your confusion at me. No!” she warns.

“Hermione…” he attempts. He grabs hold of her jumper sleeve. “Just accept for a moment that I have not lost all my marbles and that maybe what I’m saying is true. All I ask is that you consider it.”

“Consider that you’re in love with me.”

“Yes.”

She seems to give it a moment’s thought, but then shakes her head. “But I’m with Ron.”

“I know.” He sighs. “And I’ll take the punch in the gut which I’ll deserve.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “I need to think.”

“Alright.” He gives her a small smile again.

“Away from you and your Potter charm,” she warns him.

“I’m staying right here. Well, not right here. I’ll go back to my bed, before Madam Pomfrey decides to come out here,” he says.

Hermione bites her lower lip. “Will you make it alright?”

“If Draco can navigate this walker, so can I.”

Hermione nods. Harry props his weight onto the walker and starts towards the infirmary, slowly, trying to give Hermione her distance. He is surprised when he can hear her feet approaching and she’s suddenly face to face with him. “I’ll be fine,” he says, but the words are lost as she presses her lips to his, and Harry’s hand almost falls off the walker. Taken aback, he lets Hermione do the kissing for a second, before pushing back, lips and tongue and teeth and a soft moan.

Hermione backs away, a hand on his shoulder. “Perfect. Dammit.” She shrugs and runs away.

Harry ambles slowly towards the Hospital Wing, smiling the whole way.

/ / / / / / / / / /

“Tell me,” Draco insists.

Harry shakes his head. “No.”

“Tell me tell me tell me tell me.”

“You are very annoying.”

Draco smiles sweetly. “I’ll stop being annoying if you tell me.”

“No.”

“You kissed her, you dog,” Draco says, throwing a pillow over to Harry.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. But he smiles and it gives him away. He sends the pillow flying back to Draco.

Draco pushes the pillow under his head and drops back. “Do you think I should… you know…”

“No. I don’t. That… Katie… that will take a bit more time, I think.”

“So, you convinced her to drop Weasley?” Draco props himself up on one elbow.

Harry shrugs. “Not exactly.”

“Brilliant. Always wanted to see you and Weasley punch each other.”

“Wanker.”

“Takes one to know one.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

The following morning is weird. Draco is almost walking on his own, and it drives Harry a bit mad that he’s not progressing at the same rhythm. They have their Pomfrey-Approved breakfast and they keep turning towards the door, half-expecting, half-dreading the barrage of red hair.

When it finally comes, it’s Ginny first, followed by Ron, both looking as if nothing has happened. And maybe nothing has.

But Ron’s smile is twisted in a very odd way, and Harry winces involuntarily.

“Care to explain, mate?” Ron finally says. Ginny stands off to one side, and just sort of shrugs. She doesn’t look sad or like she’s been crying. She just looks… disappointed.

Harry sits up in attention. “Would that I could.”

“I’m going to chalk it up to temporary madness, what Hermione just told me, and this weird friendship of yours with Malfoy here. And I’m just going to go so I don’t fucking punch your face in.”

“It’s not temporary madness, Ron. I’m sorry, but it’s not.”

But Ron is already stalking off. Ginny shifts her weight from one foot to the other and just sighs loudly. “He’ll… it’ll blow over. I should go… but, I get it, Harry. It’s just… I should go.”

And that is that. He thinks it will take months, maybe years, for every wound to heal. He can wait.

And if it takes Hermione years to change her mind, he can wait for that, too.

/ / / / / / /

Hermione doesn’t show up that night, or the next, and Harry feels pinpricks on his feet, and really wants to go after her, find wherever she is hiding in the castle. But he doesn’t, partly because he can’t walk that far, and partly because Draco is keeping hawk-like watch over him, so he won’t do anything stupid and rash, like “a sodding Gryffindor”. And Harry is sort of grateful for that.

On the third night, when Hermione shows up, Draco pretends he has urgent matters to attend to on the other side of the Hospital Wing, and disappears into Madam Pomfrey’s office.

Harry makes a bit of a show of getting up and walking two steps towards her without the walker, but instead of congratulations, he gets pushed back onto the bed with a quick reprimand. “You shouldn’t be…” she says, and Harry nods.

She sits beside him on the edge of the bed, and watches the dim light that filters through the windows. “I had everything all planned out,” she says, softly. “After the war, I would go to Australia and find my parents and maybe bring them home. I would ask Ron to come along, maybe. I would come back and finish my year at Hogwarts and then go study something else or maybe join the Ministry, if they’d have me. I had plans.”

Harry swallows hard. “What about now?”

“Now, I have questions.”

“For me?” Harry asks.

“No, not really.” She wrings her hands together. “I need time. Time that has nothing to do with you or with Ron. I need to figure out what I want. I’ve been sitting on this chair for two months, just willing you to wake up, and now that you’re awake everything is just so blurry. I need purpose. I need to… figure it out.”

Harry nods. “Without me.”

“Not without you. But… I can’t think of what I need to do if you’re staring at me with those puppy eyes telling me you love me because you saw it in a dream. That’s not how it works. Or, at least, that’s not how I work.” Hermione takes his hand and threads her fingers with his. “I’m going to find my parents. I leave tomorrow. And when I come back, if you still feel the same way, we can talk.”

“Talk?” Harry asks.

Hermione squeezes his hand, firmly. “Talk. No surprise-window-sill snogging. Talk.”

Harry holds her hand up to his lips and kisses her fingers softly. “Talk,” he promises, looking up at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Don’t make me hit you,” she warns.

Harry nods. He doesn’t want to let go of her hand, but he knows holding on isn’t wise either. “I’ll miss you.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “You have your new best friend Draco Malfoy to tide you over.”

“It’s very cruel of you, leaving me alone with him for Merlin-knows how long.”

She stands, level to him, and rests her hands at either side of him. “You’ll survive. You’re the Boy-Who-Can’t-Be-Killed”.

“Is that what they’re calling me now?” Harry groans.

Hermione gives him a soft kiss on the cheek. “I’ll owl you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She is so close, he wants nothing more than to kiss her, but he holds back.

She hugs him tightly and whispers, “I’ll miss you, too.”

And then her warmth leaves him and she disappears down the corridor.

When he looks up from his knees, Draco is looking at him with about as much sympathy as a Malfoy can muster. “Shot down?”

“Mostly. She’s going to Australia for her parents. We’ll talk when she comes back.” Harry drops back on his bed.

“Talk?” Draco asks, ambling over to his own.

“Talk.”

“Huh.”

“Yeh.”

Draco finds his own bed and drops down. “Well, if you two crazy bairns can’t get your act together, no one can.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Draco heaves a dramatic sigh. “All hope is lost.”

“I will hex you.”

“You have no wand.”

Harry grinned at that. “About that… I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a tense-change in this chapter, which I hope works to separate the dream world from the reality we've just arrived at. I hope you've enjoyed it. If you did, let me know.
> 
> I also changed the chapters, as the story is currently finished and in the editing process.


	16. Chapter 16

It takes them two weeks of intense physical therapy and uncomfortable leg massages from Madam Pomfrey to get in good enough shape. They walk briskly to the edge of the wards and apparate with a borrowed wand from the school and to the edge of Diagon Alley. This is what Harry calls his ‘master plan’, and what Draco has taken to calling ‘a pretty crap idea’.

Harry has gotten one short owl from Hermione since she left, and it’s both heartening and sad. She has found her parents and she has found a mind-healer willing to work through everything, but it will take time. She tells him that she’ll be gone as longs as is needed. The note ends with a quick scrawl of _“Miss you. Love, Hermione. P.S.: Behave.”_

He smiles at the thought, but knows he won’t be able to follow that instruction to the letter.

Harry and Draco arrive in Diagon Alley sometime before ten in the morning, and make their way down the cobbles of the small street with surprising ease. Some of the shops are still boarded up, but there are some people walking, and it’s not as dreary as it had been during the war.

They’re hidden by half-arsed glamours that mask their appearance, longer hair, unusual robes. Draco’s opinion on the matter is that Harry has not changed his appearance enough and has changed Draco’s appearance too much, and that he looks “ghastly”. Harry has chosen to ignore this.

Harry guides them through the streets, though they both know them well. It takes them but a few minutes to get to Ollivander’s. The shop is empty, unlocked. Harry grins. Draco rolls his eyes and opens the door, locking it quickly behind them. Harry drops the charms that hide their appearance.

“Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter,” Ollivander’s voice booms. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Not surprised,” Draco mutters under his breath, but Harry gives him a look that says _be patient_.

“Great, Mr. Ollivander, you’ll have our new wands then,” Harry says, his smile cocky.

Ollivander approaches the counter slowly, eyes twinkling in puzzlement. “Your new wands?”

“Yes. Maple and thunderbird tail feather,” Harry says, pointing at himself. “Rowan and thunderbird tail feather,” he adds, pointing at Draco. “Same thunderbird.”

Ollivander’s eyes widen almost comically. “How did you know?” he asks.

Harry shrugs. “We had a dream. Also, the wands know.”

Ollivander looks to Draco for more information. “We really would like those wands now. You know, time is of the essence, not getting any younger,” Draco offers.

“Free of charge would be nice,” Harry says, resting both his elbows on the counter and leaning in. “For our troubles.”

“Your troubles,” Ollivander repeats.

“Yes, you know, wand allegiances, twin wands with an evil wizard, that sort of thing,” Harry explains.

Ollivander feigns shock. “Mister Potter, I assure you…” but Draco cuts him off.

“Do you really want to have this argument with the Boy-Who-Can’t-Be-Killed?” Draco suggests. Harry gives Ollivander his best innocent look.

Ollivander opens his mouth to reply but thinks better of it. He disappears into the back room and reappears with two slim boxes. “Your wands,” he says, placing them on the counter by the till.

Harry takes his box and hands Draco the other. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” he says. He takes his wand from the box and casts the glamours again, and he walks back onto Diagon Alley, followed closely by Draco, who smiles and shakes his head.

/ / / / / / / / /

“Potter, you are mad,” Draco finally says, as Harry Apparates them just outside the Hogwarts wards.

Harry sighs. “A bit, I guess.” He shakes off the glamour and does the same for Draco. “I just didn’t think we had anything to lose.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Draco argues. He takes out his wand and inspects it. “I think I might not be able to hold on to it for too long. Trial’s coming up soon enough.”

Harry looks up at the castle. It seems to gleam in the afternoon sun. “Not if I have any say in it.”

“You might not have.” Draco pockets his wand. “Anyway, as long as I don’t have to share a cell with my Father I should be fine. Aside from being a terrible human being, he snores.”

Harry glances sideways at Draco, unsure of whether to laugh or not. “You are such a dramatic prick.”

“You wound me.”

Harry laughs wholeheartedly. “Come on, Malfoy. I’ve got ideas about your legal defense and McGonagall said she wanted to see us. Also, we should give this wand back before someone notices it’s missing.”

“Why, Potter, you said you’d borrowed it from the school.” Draco feigns shock.

“I did. And now I have to put it back before the school notices. Race you,” Harry says, breaking into a full run.

“That’s cheating, Potter,” Draco calls out, before starting at full speed again.

/ / / / / / / / / / /

The day before Draco’s trial, a very tired owl pecks at Harry’s window. His dormitory is empty aside from him, a situation mirrored in Draco’s case. McGonagall had asked both of them to stay at Hogwarts for their own protection, but Harry knows it’s more about Draco’s protection than his. Had it not been for the concealment charms during their trip to Diagon Alley, Draco would have been spat on by shoppers and shopkeepers alike. Harry understands that if he stays at Hogwarts, then Draco will also stay, and he won’t be mobbed.

Harry unties the letter from the owl’s leg and smiles at Hermione’s handwriting on the envelope.

_“Harry: My parents are getting better, well enough to go back home in a few weeks. I do not recommend you stopping by the Weasley’s though, at least not for a while. Ron was angry when I left and he’s most likely still upset, as he has not returned my letters._

_I read your note about getting new wands and being able to walk around now and run, even. I am very glad. I hope that Malfoy is alright as well. As much of an arse as he has behaved towards me in the past, if you have chosen to forgive him, then maybe I can, too._

_I didn’t realize how much I’d missed my family during this strange year. And now that I have them back, I realize how much I miss you. You, too, are my family._

_I will see you soon._

_Please, behave. I do not want to see any new scars on you, or explosion marks on the castle when I go back._

_Love,_

_Hermione.”_

Harry’s stomach does a small flip at her words, and he realizes how much he’s missed her as well. As empty as the school is now, it is far emptier from her absence. He writes back, quickly, words on missing her, on the empty school, on McGonagall, on Draco’s nerves. It’s not enough, his words have always been lacking, but he just lets go and sends it, caution be damned. He signs it love, because love her he does, and he needs to remind her, so maybe it will become something she takes into account, something she considers.

Once the owl is gone, he hears a loud rumbling from down the stairs and shakes off the last vestiges of sleep. It is as it has been for the past few weeks: Draco attempting password combinations for the Fat Lady that would make a grown man blush. She is as stoic as a moving portrait can be, but also very loud in her disapproval, loud enough to get Harry out of bed.

He opens the door to the common room and there is Draco, half way through a very creative expletive-laden password, when he spots Harry through the swinging portrait. The Fat Lady huffs, but Draco ignores her, holding up three small envelopes to show Harry. “I’ve got mail,” he says, making his way in through the portrait hole.

“Do you, then.” Harry just lets Draco by. He hopes the Fat Lady won’t tell on him down the line. As much as McGonagall has told them about a future of fostering inter-house unity over their shared dinners in the almost-empty castle, letting Malfoy into the Gryffindor Common Room is probably not on the to-do list.

“My mother, who is very disappointed in me, but wishes me well in my trial. Granger, who wishes me well on my trial from New Zealand, is it?”

“Australia.”

“She, however, does not sound so disappointed in me. Which is bizarre in and of itself. And then there’s this.” Draco hands the third envelope to Harry.

Harry drops into a soft armchair and absently lights the fire with his new wand. He’s used to its weight and shape now, and it seems as if he’s had it forever.

He opens the third small envelope but doesn’t recognize the writing on it. He reads cautiously, half expecting it to be hate mail, which Draco has gotten quite a bit of in the past few weeks.

“It’s from Katie Bell,” Draco explains.

Harry narrows his eyes at Draco. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Didn’t we talk about this? Extensively?”

“Yeah, well, I’m more of a _do as you do, not as you say_ , Potter. Figured if you could take a chance and fail spectacularly, I might as well.” Draco shifts his weight. “So I apologized, profusely. At times, in verse. And she sent… that.”

Harry clears his throat and scans the letter, reading out loud.

_“Malfoy_

_You are a complete pillock. I am not going to forgive you by owl. That is **not** a proper apology._

_I was present at your father’s trial and I guess I understand why you are a bit of a dick. He did not show remorse, however, and I choose to believe you are better than that. Apologies are worth less than shite if you do not follow through._

_I will be at your trial tomorrow._

_Try not to be a complete bellend._

_Katie.”_

Draco shrugs. “What do you think?

“That’s… well, it’s better than I was expecting.”

“I would have wagered on at least a howler. Or exploding correspondence. It’s a thing, I’ve heard.”

Harry closes the letter back up and hands it to Draco. “Are you ready for it?”

“No,” Draco replies. His shoulders are stuck in a semi-permanent shrug. “I don’t know.”

“McGonagall said…” Harry starts, but trails off. “Actually, never mind. You know what would be brilliant?”

“What?” Draco asks, glad to be distracted from his thoughts.

“Flying. We should fly.” Harry gets up and runs up to his room, and changes quickly.

“What?” Draco asks again, confused. He yells it up the stairs. “Potter, what are you on about.”

When Harry finally makes it down the stairs in joggers and a t-shirt that has seen better days, he smiles widely. “One-on-one, seekers-only Quidditch,” he says, showing Draco a small golden snitch. “Up for it?"

Harry starts walking down the corridor in the direction of the pitch. “You’re mental.”

“Scared, Malfoy?” Harry teases, an eyebrow raised.

Draco smirks. “You wish.”

/ / / / / / / / / / /

Three hours and various scrapes, bruises and falls later, Harry and Draco walk back into the Great Hall for dinner, muddy and red-cheeked. Draco is in a better mood than he’s been all week. They pile their plates high and sit beside one another on the chipped and singed Gryffindor table. All the other tables are getting repaired by house elves on off hours, and there’s only a few teachers left around lunch.

“I hadn’t done that…” Draco starts, but shrugs it off. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. You’re actually better than when you were on the team,” Harry points out. “Almost caught the snitch this time.”

“I bet you that snitch is charmed somehow. You getting it three times out of three is just impossible. You were absolutely and without a doubt cheating,” Draco declares, then stops. “You did it to get my mind off the trial.”

Harry shrugs, stuffing his mouth with Yorkshire pudding. “A bit. I also really wanted to fly.”

“It really isn’t the same without the Fiendfyre nipping at your heels,” Draco concedes, taking a long sip of his pumpkin juice. “Thank you. Now this sort of feels like my last meal.”

“It’s not.”

Draco shrugs. “It’s not so bad, if it its.”

“Could most definitely be worse. They could’ve run out of sausages,” Harry attempts.

“It could just be soup,” Draco counters.

“No pudding,” Harry warns, dramatically.

Draco doesn’t laugh, but his smile is lighter, warmer, and Harry feels better, feels the weight of the words of Hermione’s letter. And he smiles back.

/ / / / / / / / / /

The trial is chaotic and loud, and there are too many people trying to speak, to apportion blame. Kingsley has somehow managed to make the session semi-private, and there is no sign of Skeeter or the press, but Harry knows that there are many ways to skin a cat. He sits off to the side, next to Professor McGonagall, watching as Draco nears the chair provided for his testimony and defense. He has no advocate, and the members of the Wizengamot that surround him have their faces shaded.

Harry catches a glimpse of Katie among the small group of Hogwarts students and former students who have made their way to the side seats. She waves at him almost absently, then turns back to face Draco, who has taken a seat. His back is stiff and straight, and he keeps his hands on his knees. Harry feels in his pocket for his own wand and Draco’s, who had handed it to him for safekeeping. It’s a sinking feeling, to be in possession of Draco’s wand again.

“Mister Draco Malfoy, Wizard, of age eighteen. Has not graduated from Hogwarts. Family of known Death Eater affiliations. Took on the Dark Mark at age sixteen when he was still not of age.” A small wizard with a very long beard reads from a piece of parchment. “He used unforgivable curses and participated in various plots to bring V-V-Voldemort to power, including the use of the Imperious Curse, the use of dark objects. He stands before the Wizengamot for trial and sentencing.”

Harry wrings his hands. Draco looks up at him, then back at his knees, and Harry can tell he has already given up.

“Who accuses this man?” calls out an older witch, standing for her part. Wizengamot trials have a particular cadence of tradition, and the accuser must stand.

Within a few minutes, a wizard in his fifties stands and raises his hand. “I, Jonas Wilkerson, stand before the Wizengamot as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In the name of the Wizarding Society of Britain, I bring forth accusations of High Treason and Death Eater affiliations, as well as use of unforgivables. I accuse this man.”

Harry closes his eyes.

“And who defends this man?” the older witch calls out, her voice not as strong now. There is a rustle of robes beside Harry. He looks up to see Professor McGonagall standing beside him. “I, Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, stand before you today to speak on behalf of Draco Malfoy, a student at the school. I am not alone.” She looks to Harry and gives him one of her pursed-lip smiles and Harry nods and stands.

“Harry Potter. I stand in defense of Draco Malfoy.”

Draco does not dare smile, but Harry can see something in his eyes, a bit of relief.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” a voice booms from further down the seats, close to where Draco is. “I, too, intend to speak for Draco Malfoy.”

The older witch wrinkles her nose. “This is most unusual, Minister.”

Kingsley stands, his demeanor one of calm, the kind of calm that precedes a very destructive storm. “Unusual accusations bring forth unusual measures. I did not think this court was in the habit of judging the actions of children. He is but a boy.”

“He is of age,” the witch insists.

“He was not when he took the mark, when his father influenced his actions, and when Voldemort took over his house. He was a boy then, with no way out. We failed him,” McGonagall says, softly. “We, as a school, as a society, failed to protect him. Failed to see what was wrong. We…”

“I take responsibility,” Draco’s voice says, softly.

There is a silence and Harry wants to scream to Draco to keep quiet, but Draco gives him a chilling look.

“Yes, I was very young when I took the mark. And maybe someone should have noticed that things were… but… I knew that what I was doing was wrong. I struggled with it, but I didn’t do what was right. I didn’t know how to get out, and I hurt people by being a coward. I don’t know if I deserve mercy. What I hope for is another chance. I am sorry for all the people I hurt. I wish I could change that, but I can’t. So all I can ask for is that you give me a chance to become a better man,” Draco says. He’s looking at everyone and no one, but also at Katie almost the entirety of his speech. He looks down.

Harry raises his hand and speaks without waiting. “I’ve used unforgivables in battle. I think you cannot call them unforgivables and then selectively punish for their use. If Draco Malfoy is guilty then so am I.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mister Potter,” the older witch says, banging a gavel onto her table. “I… we… this court is willing to listen and take into account all mitigating circumstances. In writing. I see there are other hands raised who wish to speak.”

And Harry does, too. There is Katie’s raised hand, and a little further down the line, Professor Slughorn. He squints into the dark seats and can also see Goyle and Luna and a flash of red hair that can only be Ron. And there is no hatred in their eyes.

The witch with the gavel nods softly. “I will adjourn for today, and take your accounts of mitigation under advisement. Mister Malfoy, you will be at all times be accompanied by a guardian until such a time as a verdict is reached.” McGonagall raises her hand quickly and the witch seems to prefer not to let her get a word in edgewise. “Yes, Minerva, you may remain the Guardian for Mister Malfoy.”

McGonagall smiles, satisfied. Harry feels like celebrating, though he knows he can’t, not yet. Draco stands and watches as Katie gives him a small wave then retreats into the chambers, where the older witch with the gavel has disappeared to. Harry knows he must do the same.

He glances back and watches as Draco is left alone in the middle of the court.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

As they wait to give testimony, Harry stands next to Kingsley. He shuffles his feet a bit, unsure of how to say what he wants to say.

This is a different world than the dream world he’s inhabited for weeks, and he doesn’t know if his fears are real or unfounded. But he can’t risk it.

“Minister,” he starts, feeling smaller than he has felt in a long time.

“Kingsley,” the Minister corrects, with a wide smile. “If we start using formal titles, I’ll start calling you one of your press-pet-names and you will not enjoy it.”

“Fair enough, Kingsley,” Harry says. “I have some concerns.”

“About Draco Malfoy?”

“Well, yes, but no, that’s not it. It’s… I’ve been having this feeling… I’m worried about security.”

“For yourself?”

Harry shakes his head. “For everyone. The Ministry was infiltrated once before and I worry it could be again. I worry that there are still Death Eaters out there, maybe some we didn’t know. Or that someone could get out of Azkaban… the breakout before, there must have been people on the inside.” Harry tries to sound casual, as if these are things that just jumped into his head. “I’m worried that we could be too trusting, too complacent, and that this might happen again.”

“You’re thinking about Lucius Malfoy,” Kingsley says, softly.

Harry shrugs. “Yes, but not only him. I think we need to figure out how to make it so that none of it happens again. Not the feelings of blood superiority, not the infiltration of the Ministry. But mostly, using children in battle…” Harry trails off. “I’m sorry, but we lost too many people, we’ve lost too much. It can’t happen again.”

Kingsley nods. “I understand. I’ve been meaning to ask you, if you’d be interested… in joining the Aurors. I think your knowledge would be instrumental to…”

Harry shakes his head, but his eyes are kind. “I’m all fought out. I think I’m ready for something different.”

“I understand.” Kingsley lowers his head. “You just want to make sure we do our jobs.”

“I just want to make sure that we learn from our mistakes,” Harry answers. “All of us.”

The older witch calls Kingsley to her chambers, and Kingsley gives Harry a quick nod. “We’re all working to make a better wizarding society. But I take your concerns seriously. We will look into it.”

Harry nods a quick thanks and watches as Kingsley disappears into the chamber. And he waits.

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

When his testimony is done, it takes him a few minutes to find Draco again. He is sitting in the Atrium, beside the awful fountain. Harry thinks of suggesting to Kingsley to just destroy the damn thing and start over, but he thinks he’s fresh out of favors, as it stands.

Draco just sits, ignoring the stares.

When Harry approaches, he looks up and shrugs. “Better than I expected,” he says.

Harry sits beside him. “Katie said to say hello.”

“She did not,” Draco argues.

“She said, ‘Tell that arse Malfoy to keep his shit together’.”

Draco’s bark of laughter is short but pointed. “Sounds much more likely.”

Harry looks up at the horrid fountain with its horrendous statue and winces. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Unlikely.”

“Shut up. I’ve been thinking that the dream, it keeps getting blurrier, you know?” Harry watches Malfoy, who gives him a curt nod. “Well, we have one more thing to do, then, before we forget.”

“What’s that?”

“We have a promise to keep.” Harry points towards the elevators and points down.

Draco understands.

/ / / / / / /

The Department of Mysteries is not quiet and empty, like it had been in their dreams. Instead, it is a bureaucratic office in full swing, secretaries and messengers and owls flying overhead. In the reception, a wide-eyed woman with horn-rimmed glasses greets them.

“Adora Perkins,” Harry says.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

Draco shakes his head, but Harry just flashes the woman his best “I’m Harry Potter” smile.

The woman just gives him a warm smile back and points to a door on their left. “That’s the visitor’s room. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Well, this is already much more bureaucratic than the dream,” Draco points out as they take their seats in the small room. There is a kettle, a few chairs and a table, some mugs. The noise from the outside is magically muffled. “You’ve gotten really good at milking your fame.”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done.” Harry gives him an innocent smile. Draco does not buy it.

They wait.

Ten minutes later, Adora Perkins walks in.

And she stops. “You are Harry Potter! I thought Audrey was joking!” she says, delighted.

“Uhm, yes, I’m Harry Potter and this is Draco Malfoy, and… well, this is going to sound weird.”

Adora quirks an eyebrow but sits across from them. “I’m used to weird.”

“Yes, we know,” Draco says, but Harry elbow him in the ribs.

“I don’t know if you’ve read, it was in the papers. We were… unconscious for about a month.” Harry watches her closely, trying to gauge her interest. “We dreamt that we came to the Department of Mysteries, to the Room of Dreams, and you explained some things to us. We promised that if we woke up, we’d tell you.”

She seems to grip the table, hard. “Tell me what?”

“That the dream we were in, there was a sixty-percent chance that it was a dream, and it ended up being one anyway. Just… wanted to let you know.”

She smiles, nervously. She gives both Draco and Harry considered glances, as if trying to decide if they are lying or joking or both.

“There is no Room of Dreams,” she says, spreading her hands wide. “I work in the Brain Room. Though we deal with the unconscious, we don’t really… I mean, we’ve never seen the point of studying dreams. They are so unreliable. But maybe…”

Draco smirks, but does not say anything.

Adora gives Harry an apologetic look, and stands to leave. “I did always wonder, you know, about the definition of reality,” she says, turning from the door. “But it’s never been one of those questions that the other wizards in the department were inclined to think too much about.” She smiles, already halfway out the door. “I do hope I was more helpful in your dream.”

Harry gives her a confused half smile. “You were.”

“Good,” she replies. She closes the door behind her.

Draco and Harry sit in silence for a moment, watching the door through which Adora Perkins has disappeared. Both of them wonder who dreamt her up.

/ / / / / / /

They aren’t called back to testify. It appears their written accounts are being read and tallied.

They wander around the castle for hours, then days, just waiting.

And dueling. And flying.

It becomes a sort of ritual. There is no more rebuilding. There are, as of yet, no classes. They’re basically all that’s left in school, aside from McGonagall and Filch and the House-Elves. So they eat breakfast and fly, eat lunch and duel, eat dinner and play exploding snap. And they wait.

When the morning owl post arrives, three weeks after the trial, there is one letter for Harry and another for Draco. Harry’s has Hermione’s handwriting on it, but Draco’s has a Ministry seal. Harry pockets his letter for later and watches as Draco breaks the seal and starts to open the letter. He winces as he reads and lets it fall to the table with shaky hands. He says nothing, his expression blank.

“Fuck this,” Harry mutters, grabbing the letter and reading carefully.

_“Mister Draco Malfoy,_

_Upon further review of your case, the Wizengamot has decided to dismiss the charges brought up during trial proceedings. However, you are to be placed under probation for a period of three years, as a precautionary measure with regards to your involvement in the war. During this time, you must show personal growth, you must finish your basic education at Hogwarts and either seek further education or find gainful employment. You are to remain under guardianship of Minerva McGonagall. Any change in guardianship must be approved by the Ministry. Use of Magic will be restricted to educational or work purposes, and will be strictly controlled. As part of your probation, you will not be allowed contact with any Prisoners of Azkaban or Death Eaters, be they former or active. We wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors.”_

Harry looks up from the letter, to Draco’s shaking hands, to his shiny eyes. “You’re free.”

“Somewhat,” Draco says, but he looks away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“Prick,” Harry says.

“Wanker,” Draco adds.

Harry smiles and pushes the plate of toast towards him. “Could be worse.”

“Could be much worse.” Draco crunches on a piece of toast, deep in thought. “Think our flying will count as approved uses of magic?”

/ / / / / / / / / / / /

By the time night falls and Harry finally makes it to his room, he has almost forgotten about Hermione’s letter. McGonagall’s expression upon finding out that she would be Draco’s guardian for the next three years was very distracting, and Draco had seemed to have boundless energy, catching the snitch twice from under Harry’s nose.

But now, in his dark room, Harry feels around for the letter and the solid weight of the paper in his hand, because it is paper, regular muggle paper lined in blue.

_“Harry,_

_I read there was a stalemate at the trials, and there may be good news for Malfoy. I am keeping my fingers crossed._

_I have been thinking quite a lot during my time here (it is very cold and I keep thinking it shouldn’t be cold in July, but different hemispheres). In any case, it’s too cold to do much else than watch the mind healer work and have tea with Mum and Dad and think. And so I’ve been thinking. Much too much for my own good._

_I’ll see you soon._

_Happy Birthday, if I’m late for it._

_Love._

_Hermione.”_

Harry smiles. She hasn’t missed his birthday yet, but she probably will. This will be his first birthday spent at Hogwarts and it’s not so bad. It feels so much like home.

He doesn’t write back, but he has so much to tell her. About Draco’s brave words at the trial, about how much he’d missed flying. About his thoughts for the future. He will tell her in person, he decides. It will be so much better to tell her in person.

He drops his head back on his pillow and smiles, thinking of the faces she will make when he tells her about his plans. And he drifts off to sleep thinking about her, so he isn’t surprised to see her face in the darkness, in his dreams.

He’s been dreaming about her quite a lot, and as the summer wanes and his eighteenth birthday approaches, he thinks he’s lucky that he can see her in dreams, at least. Sometimes it’s so vivid. Like, right now, he can almost feel her weight on top of him, and her warm breath, and her soft lips. He feels her body against his, friction and goosebumps and soft whimpers in his ears and a soft “oof” as he turns them, until his weight is on top of her and then… he opens his eyes.

He opens his eyes and she is there, in his bed, her hair fanned out on his pillow and a quirked eyebrow. “That is definitely not just talking,” she says, and Harry shakes his head, clearing the sleep from his eyes. He’s fallen asleep with his glasses on, so he can see her in her full and unbearable glory, all swollen lips and a button of her shirt undone.

“It’s you. You’re real. You’re here,” he whispers, and she nods.

Hermione watches his face with unbridled attention to detail. “Who else would I be?” She sits up on the bed. “Happy Birthday, as of… fifteen minutes,” she says, casting a tempus charm, then swiftly vanishing it.

He pulls her up to him and kisses her deeply, until her body is pressed flush against his, and he can’t hide anything from her. She pushes away from him gently. “Again, that’s not talking.”

“No. Sorry.” He sits back sheepishly, looking at her messy hair and disheveled clothes and taking deep, deep breaths. “You said in your letters that you’ve been thinking.”

“I have,” she says, sitting up and straightening her clothes

Harry nods. The moonlight filters through the window and it’s enough to see her flushing. “And have you come to any conclusions?”

“Yes. A few.” She tangles her fingers in the edge of her blouse.

“Want to share?” Harry asks. He inches closer to her, so they are sitting side by side on the edge of the bed. He hooks his index finger with hers, and she doesn’t move away.

She sighs. “I told Ron it was over before I left because… well, because I couldn’t get your kiss out of my mind and that is not conducive to having an honest relationship with someone else.” She chews on her lower lip, nervously, biting off a bit of skin. “But I wanted to think because… well, if we try something that fails spectacularly, I would be losing my best friend, and I’ve already sort of lost my other best friend and it’s been a little bit lonely, these past few weeks. I’ve been busy and it’s been lovely to get my parents back, even if it’s slow going, but… this is different.”

Harry nods, but says nothing. He doesn’t want to push, but oh, how he’d like to.

“I wanted it to be my decision, which isn’t very smart of me, because it’s not something I can calculate and reason my way into or out of. I just… I have so many things to figure out yet, who I want to be, what I want to do. And I was sure my answer would be no, except…”

Harry gives himself a bit of room to hope. “Except?”

“Except that I already know what I want. I come in here and see you sleeping and I just want to… brush off your fringe and ask if you’ve had dinner. I want to take care of you, and I want you to take care of me, and this is ridiculous because we’re eighteen, we’re not supposed to know yet, we’re not supposed to understand what love is really like. But we’ve seen loss and death and incredible acts of courage. How could anyone think that we wouldn’t know love, too?”

Harry takes a hitched breath, and squeezes her hand tighter. “I think I need you to spell things out for me, because I feel a bit daft right now.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but decides against it. She pulls Harry closer by his jumper, her eyes on his, steady. “I love you, Harry. And you are daft.”

“Oh,” he says, softly. He grins. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes, please,” she says, and then he’s kissing her, properly, both of them willing, no longer sleepwalking through life, limbs tangled and warm bodies, and it’s the best thing that has ever happened to him, because this moment is his. It’s not about heroics or about fate, it’s a decision, their decision.

“I love you, too,” Harry whispers, his mouth hot against her neck, and she keens and presses into him, and their bodies are alive, awake, and there’s so much he wants to tell her, and there’s so much he needs to know, but this, for now, is enough.

Except…

“Hermione?” he asks, between kisses.

“Yes?” She is flushed and winded and Harry can’t believe he has stopped snogging her just to ask this question, but his curiosity has always gotten the best of him.

“Do you have a car?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “Yes. Gift from my parents, from before. I hid it. I told you about it once, in the tent.”

“Right,” Harry says.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just… In my dream, you taught Malfoy how to drive.” He says it because it’s true and also, implausible.

“You have the strangest dreams, Harry,” she says, and then she’s pulling him closer, so close that he forgets the questions he has and where he ends and where she begins, and all they are is mouths hands limbs and hitched breath. And for now, this is good.

This, for now, is perfect.


	17. Epilogue

Draco has a ritual.

For the past three years, he has worked through his probation. And every year, on the anniversary of the verdict, he does the same thing, almost.

The first year, he closed his book at exactly 6PM. He threw the book out the window of the Astronomy Tower. And then he went with Harry and Hermione for a celebratory pint in Hogsmeade, just a few days shy of their graduation.

The tradition has varied slightly. The year after graduating, he closed up the shop where he worked just a bit early. And then he met Harry and Hermione for a celebratory pint in London.

This year, it’s different, because it’s better. Because it is his last day of probation.

Because this year, he closes _his_ shop early. And it is his shop, his name on the window in white and silver letters. Well, not just his. “ _Malfoy & Potter, Wand Purveyors_”.

They had flipped for it, the top billing, and Draco had won a coin toss for the first time in his life.

 _“What are the odds?”_ Potter had asked, and Hermione had replied _, “As I’ve told you both on numerous occasions, the odds are fifty-fifty. Every time, they’re fifty-fifty.”_

It’s his turn to close today, and he closes early, but he knows Harry won’t mind. Harry’s taken the day off, and that’s alright, too. There is some flexibility to being your own boss, and Draco relishes the possibilities, the ability to make his own choices.

And now, at six in the afternoon on a cool July night, he locks up the shop, his key dangling from a Tamagotchi keychain. He pockets his wand and goes about getting everything ready before walking out of Diagon Alley, through the Leaky, and down the street to where he’s parked the appallingly small car he bought off Hermione a year ago, after she taught him how to drive, proper.

/ / / / / / / / /

Draco parks just down the street from the small cottage in Godric’s Hollow.

It stands where James and Lily Potter’s home once stood, but it is markedly different. The windows have blue shutters and the door is also blue. There is a small drawing of a phoenix on the letter box, and Draco smiles at that. Though most of their neighbors are magical, there are some muggles around who must just think that Potter and Granger are eccentric.

Harry and Hermione. Sometimes, Draco still needs to remind himself of how far they’ve come, and how the use of last names is now more of a joke than a constant.

The box in his hand wriggles a bit. Draco peers inside and smiles.

He walks down the small footpath up to the door and knocks. He’s been here often in the past few months, helping them move, helping them paint. Granger had pointed out that she was not surprised that Draco was very neat while painting. He had felt a bit proud.

They had finally finished moving in this week and Harry had asked him over for dinner. _A pre-birthday thing_ , he’d said. But they both know they are celebrating many things.

Freedom. Life.

The door opens to a flustered Hermione, wearing a denim pinafore and very tall socks and a very big smile. “Draco’s here,” she calls into the house. Harry appears not far behind, his hair a mess as well.

Draco blanches. “Please tell me I did not interrupt your fumbling sex life.”

“I was putting up a shelf, Draco,” Harry says, blushing furiously.

“I’m making toad in the hole!” Hermione exclaims, rushing back into the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Draco exchanges worried glances with Harry, who just shrugs. “It was her turn to cook.”

“I heard that!” Hermione calls. “You will eat it and you will like it.”

“Yes, sir!” both Draco and Harry call back. Harry looks sheepish. “Want a beer?”

Draco shrugs. “Will it make the food taste better?”

“If you have enough of them, you might forget the taste faster.”

“Well, then, there’s your answer.”

Harry nods and heads into the kitchen. When he gets back, Draco is still awkwardly holding onto the half-opened carboard box. “You want to set that down, mate?” Harry asks.

“In a minute.” Draco balances the box perilously on one arm and takes the beer with the other. “Mother wrote.”

“Andromeda told me that she would reach out,” Harry says, taking a swig of his drink.

Draco shrugs, lets the bottle rest on a nearby table and resumes holding the box with both hands, as it moves again. “She didn’t say anything about my Father, which is an improvement, I guess. We’re meeting for tea next week, close to the shop.”

Harry’s eyes keep darting to the wriggling box, confused, but attempting to keep the conversation going. “That’s good. I know you miss her. And it’s good that you’re talking again, and what the fuck is in that fucking box?”

The box yelps.

“It’s actually…” Draco sighs dramatically. “It’s your housewarming gift, so you may as well call Granger back in here.”

“Hermione,” Harry calls back to the kitchen. “Please come out here. Draco’s being weird.”

Draco stops trying to balance the box and sets it down on the floor. Then he flips Harry off, hiding his finger when Hermione enters the room again. “What are you two on about?”

Draco opens the box all the way. Inside, a small puppy with an oddly shaped head wags its tail and pisses on the cardboard.

Hermione kneels beside the box. “It’s a bull terrier. Oh, he’s so cute.”

“Asked around for the most stubborn dog in the world,” Draco explains. “Thought it would be a great fit for you lot.”

Harry stares at Draco, then at the puppy, with a look of dumbfounded surprise all over his face. He sits down on the floor and drags the puppy towards his chest, raising it a bit. It wees on his shirt a bit, but seems to take to Harry immediately. Harry waves his wand over his shirt, cleaning it.

“Oh,” Harry says, smiling unbearably when the puppy licks his nose. “Thank you.”

Draco shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

Hermione stands and hugs Draco with astonishing force. “Take the thanks, Draco,” she whispers. “You did good.”

Draco nods, his face impassive, out of breath from her fierce hug. Suddenly an alarm goes off in the kitchen, making Hermione release him. “Don’t let him piss on the rug,” she warns, disappearing again towards the kitchen.

But Harry doesn’t seem to listen. He’s busy letting the puppy explore, dropping to the floor and letting the little dog walk all over his chest.

“You remembered,” he says, looking at Draco with pleasant surprise. “Thank you.”

Draco shrugs. “Don’t make a scene, Potter.”

Harry laughs. “What should I call him?”

“I thought Perkins would be good. Like, you know…”

Harry nods. “I remember.”

Draco sits down on the floor and watches the puppy – Perkins – fall asleep on top of Harry. “The house looks good. It’s… nice.” Draco pretends to cringe a bit, but Harry guffaws.

“We have extra room, you know,” Harry offers.

Draco waves him away. “I’m perfectly fine in my flat.”

“The heating in your muggle flat is ghastly,” Harry points out.

Draco smiles. “Starting tomorrow, I can heat it with magic. I’ll also be able to connect it to the floo network. So many people just dying to firecall me. I will have no time in my schedule for you anymore.”

“Right. Good, then. We’ll enjoy one final evening of your lovely company.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Let’s go, food’s ready.”

Harry picks up the sleeping puppy and places it back in the box, carrying it out to the back garden. Draco follows. There’s a table set outside, small pebbles holding the place settings against the wind. The weather is lovely, and the table is under the shade of a large tree that looks old enough to have existed back when this house was different, back before the world had turned upside down for Harry for the first time.

Draco looks around, at the small hammock, at the puppy taking his first exploratory steps on the grass, at the table, set for four.

“Is someone else coming?” Draco asks suspiciously, as Harry disappears back inside and Hermione steps out with the food.

Hermione smiles a conspiratorial smile. “Just a friend.”

Draco hears the door, then the footsteps. And he just knows.

Katie Bell.

Fucking Potter.

Katie takes off her jumper as she steps outside and heads straight for the puppy, but smiles warmly at Draco.

“Perkins,” Draco explains.

Katie looks skywards, amused. “That’s your doing. Only a right tosser would suggest giving a puppy such a posh name.”

Draco gives Harry a look so lethal it should merit a prison sentence. He thinks he could risk his probation just to hex Potter, but Harry just shrugs and smiles. When Hermione sets the food on the table, edges burned and smelling faintly of brussels sprouts, Harry hugs her tight around the waist and kisses her hair, and Draco knows that he will eat poison if Hermione serves it, because that is how things are. Katie starts pouring the wine, overly generous, and hands the glasses back to each in turn. Her fingers brush Draco’s and he freezes, almost dropping the glass. She quirks an eyebrow at him, but lets it go, turning to hand Hermione her glass.

“I will murder you, Potter,” Draco says, raising his glass at Harry.

“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” Harry replies, clinking glasses.

Hermione just sighs and turns to Katie for support. “Wankers,” she whispers and Katie laughs, her eyes sparkling in the setting sun of summer.

Draco laughs. He is grateful, in spite of Harry and Hermione’s terrible attempts at matchmaking. He is enveloped in warm friendship and even though his stomach is in knots as Katie passes him the salad, he is content, full of wine and food that is made with love but tastes like boiled cabbage. He feels at home.

On the grass, a puppy dozes, dreaming of playing fetch with his new owner in a tiny cottage, of leaving hairs on the sofa, and of an endless summer of freedom.

Draco thinks that tonight, he’ll dream of freedom, too.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you've enjoyed this story. There are some readers who've left comments on almost all the chapters, I think I've replied to most of you personally, but just wanted to let everyone who's left comments that it is much appreciated and it has helped me to write faster, knowing there are others out there willing to read. Thank you again for your kind words.


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